Spectrum Volume III: Refugees
by SJO
Summary: While the characters of "Heroes" fled in "Fugitives," the OCs from my previous two "Spectrum" volumes had a refuge. Rated M for a disturbing matter referenced to late in the story.
1. Eugenics

Spectrum Volume III: Refugees

Note: _Heroes_ is owned by NBC Universal, and _Fringe _is owned by 20th Century Fox, not me. I didn't really want to put this up on because "Spectrum Volume II: Resistance" still has not received any reviews, and I thought this might be similarly ignored. However, the fansite where I was posting this has been having problems for several days now, and I'm not entirely sure if it exists anymore, but I still have to share what's on my mind.

So, let me explain a few things first. You have to read the past two volumes of my Heroes fanfiction to really know what's going on, and you need to be familiar with the "Fugitives" volume of _Heroes_. A few _Fringe _tidbits and spoilers will also be thrown in occasionally, but I'm really following that specific storyline. I'm doing something kinda different in telling most of the story through first person. When there's a change to third person, that's a signal that I am changing perspective. The pronouns are intentionally vague, but if you're familiar enough with the series, you should pretty much tell who's talking. Finally, I recognize the rating is kinda bold, but really there was only one way I could rationalize something later on in the story, and it's rather awful. I'm not sure if I can say right out what it is, but it could probably be figured out rather easily.

* * *

Chapter 1: Eugenics

You probably wonder why we call ourselves "refugees" and not "fugitives," as the Petrellis and the other heroes outside the circle called themselves. I suppose we may have shared that synonym. By my understanding, ours fit our situation better. A fugitive is defined as one who flees, usually from an oppressive government. A refugee also flees for the same reason, but it is defined as one who seeks shelter. That is what makes us different. We had shelter, and it saved us, though it also confined us. The shelter we found was a sanctuary, but it was also our prison.

There is a reason I am so specific about such words, and it starts with my own name. My name is Gabriel Paul Bonhomme. For almost twenty years, I refused to go by any other name. Hearing a nickname of any kind was almost painful. Yet now, I must insist that people call me Gabe. It is still such a major adjustment, but it must be done. The name "Gabriel" sends a chill down my spine.

I used to be proud that I shared my name with an angel. Now, I am ashamed that I share my name with a murderer.

But I was not taking refuge from him. _Non_, I was surrounded by murderers. We all were. They pressed in so close, we couldn't breathe.

Perhaps I should go back to when this all started. At the beginning of this year, after I graduated from my father's university, I took a job with a research team employed by Massive Dynamic. This group was actually part of the American FBI. I still remember my first day. I was sitting in a bare room with a long table along with Nina Sharp, the woman who interviewed and hired me, sitting across from me and Agent Phillip Broyles, my new boss, sitting at the end beside me. Agent Broyles intimidated me some. He has a very powerful voice and an expression that suggested that he was not one to be trifled with. So I didn't make eye contact with him as he read my responsibilities and benefits. I only quietly listened, until he got to one detail.

"As a member of the FBI, you are an unofficial American citizen and are entitled to full amnesty and privileges of citizenship as well as–"

"Excuse me," I interrupted. "I'm sorry, Mr. Broyles, but I don't understand. What does that word mean, _amnesty?_"

Both of them looked at me strangely. "Did that word not translate, dear?" Madame Sharp asked.

I probably should explain what she means by this if you do not know. Part of my ability involves translation. I am from France, and whatever speech I hear, no matter what language, I hear in French. Yet whenever I speak, I speak in whatever language of my listener's origin, complete with an accent from his/her region. Madame Sharp knew about this because my Great Aunt Angela Petrelli was her school friend. I don't know if Agent Broyles knew it.

"Yes, it translated. I heard '_la amnistie_,' but I am not familiar with this word even in my language."

"Well," Madame Sharp answered, "amnesty basically means safety. As a member of this group, you are going to be considered one of the most important people in the country, and we have to keep up with you. So, if you are ever in trouble with the law in this country or with your country, you won't have to go to jail. If some problem comes up and France says you have to be extradited back to France, you don't have to. Does that make more sense?"

"No, I am still not sure I understand. I am not going to get in trouble with the law, so why would I need it?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe when something like that will come in handy. Keep it in your back pocket. You might need it."

I contemplated for a moment what to do if I did not have a back pocket. There's something else I should probably mention. I have Asperger's Syndrome, a high functioning form of autism. One of the things my disorder complicates is my understanding of idioms like that because I tend to take things literally. I am learning to not ask these questions aloud because I usually end up looking like an idiot.

Anyway, I learned I did need it. In fact, it was amnesty that saved me.

Agent Broyles continued, and I continued to listen. At the end, though, he purposely made eye contact with me and said, "Now, this is very important, Gabriel. The FBI is a top secret organization. Therefore, under no circumstances are you to divulge the nature of your work to anyone, including friends and family."

"Yes sir. I have seen a few episodes of _The X-Files_, and I expected this. I will do my best."

"That's not good enough. One small leak, and you will be terminated, no exceptions."

"Very well." That detail panicked me more than once during this whole ordeal.

Then, Agent Broyles took me to meet the rest of my group. Of course, I already had met them before, when a friend teleported me four years in the future, but they didn't know that. I was very surprised that the woman I met as Madame Bishop in the future was not married. When I addressed her by that name, she awkwardly told me her name was Mademoiselle Dunham. Everyone else had the same name. All of them were just as I remembered. Peter Bishop was still very impatient, probably every chance he got, he asked me why I was there. Astrid was very kind and understanding. And Dr. Bishop was brilliant, eccentric, and altogether delightful . . . most of the time. As I came to know him better, I learned her had rather lax morals. I once slapped him for suggesting that I am a drug user. He never brought up the subject in my presence again.

My job consisted mostly of assisting him, or assisting Astrid as she assisted him. They were mostly small jobs, getting together ingredients, plugging things in, that sort of thing. Dr. Bishop had a fixation on certain foods, and I was usually the one sent out to retrieve them for him. Astrid also wanted me to take care of Gene, the cow. That consisted of giving her shots, bathing her, and cleaning her stall. It wasn't really what I envisioned, but a Nobel laureate must start somewhere. I was mostly pleased to be part of this group. The things I saw there changed my life. I wish I could describe them to you, but I must not. The only requirement for sharing my experience is that I maintain my confidentiality agreement.

Occasionally, Broyles would question me about my experiences as one with superbilities. That's a term I coined, in a matter of speaking. At least, I am the only one who uses it. Papa and I got the idea when we traveled to the future and there was a hierarchy of people--the disabled, the abled (normal, if there is such a thing), and the superabled (those who have evolved abilities as listed in Chandra Suresh's book). Anyway, I told Broyles everything I could remember, all the people I have met. That actually helped me sometimes. I once mentioned my wish for the superbility I saw my like-named foe perform when he could tell when someone is lying. Agent Dunham told me that there was a way to learn how to do that without superbilities. She told me about a consultant with the CIA named Dr. Cal Lightman who spent his career learning the meaning behind facial expressions and body language, and he published them all in a number of books. Certainly, I wanted to learn everything I could, so I got all the books I could find from him from the library.

Everything was going fine until the day I was arrested.

I still remember that terrifying day. It started innocently enough. It was my day off from the lab. I was walking across campus talking to one of my best friends with superbilities. Then I was surrounded. I was so shocked, I dropped my cellphone, and it broke on the pavement. I kept trying to tell them that I worked for the government and had amnesty, but they didn't seem to care. One moved closer to me. "SHUT UP!" he yelled as he pointed his rifle right at my temple. He pulled off his mask and looked straight at me. His skin was very pale. I wondered if he was an albino. His face was filled with hate. "Down on the ground!" he ordered coldly.

There was only one witness. I saw him just past this soldier's shoulder. It was the man with no hair. I had seen him several times staring at me in the cafeteria, and he was still staring at me. I just wished he would do something, call for help, fight them, something! But he just watched.

I thought I was done for until I heard Agent Dunham's voice. "Freeze! FBI!" I looked up as she and other agents surrounded the men with their own guns.

"You're wasting your time," the albino soldier said. "I have direct orders from the President to take him in."

"He's protected by the President! Let him go!" Broyles was there, and he got into an argument with the albino man. As they argued, Peter Bishop gestured for me, and we made a run for it.

I hid in the lab for quite a while after that. Despite Peter's protests, his father found a good place to hide me until the heat was off, which involved another experience I wish I could describe, but I can't. After a few hours, Agents Broyles and Dunham came to talk to me.

"We negotiated with the heads of this operation," Broyles explained. "It was not easy. They agreed to recognize your amnesty, but if you want my opinion, they aren't going to let this go."

"Wait, the heads? There's not just one?"

"Yes, we spoke to two, Danko and Bennet."

"Bennet? Did he have horned-rimmed glasses?"

"Yes, he did," Agent Dunham said. "Do you know him?"

I nodded. "I usually call him the spy. That's . . . that's a long story. He spoke on my behalf, did he?"

"Well, Danko seemed more eager to take you in."

"What do they want with me? What did I do wrong?"

"You did nothing wrong!" Agent Dunham smiled sympathetically at me.

I looked past her to Broyles. "What's going on?"

Broyles looked straight at me in that intimidating way he always does. "There is a nationwide movement supported by the President to arrest and relocate people in your situation."

"What do you mean, autistic?"

"No, people . . . on the helix."

That's sometimes his shorthand way of saying those of us who have superbilities, or abilities, powers, or those who have further evolved. I couldn't believe that! "The president, the American president? Why would he . . . ?"

"Bennet mentioned a New York Senator, Nathan Petrelli."

"Nathan Petrelli?! But . . . but he's my cousin, and he's . . . why would he do that?!"

"I only know what I've been told."

"We'll look into it more if you wish," Agent Dunham offered.

"But as I said, Gabe, they're not going to let this go. They may try to find a loophole and attack again, and you need to be on your guard."

"Yes sir," I nodded. "Incidently, how did you find me so fast?"

"We got your text message," Agent Dunham answered. She showed me a cellphone screen that had a message from my number, asking for help.

"How is that possible?" I said as I held up what remained of my phone.

The only rational explanation I could devise was that the hairless man did it somehow. He was the only witness, and he gave me the impression that he could do something incredible like that. But how did he know about my secret work? How could he contact Agent Dunham? I wasn't sure if there was any way I could ever know; even if I asked him, he probably wouldn't tell me.

I tried to learn more about what was going on with this abduction program. Of course, I didn't learn anything directly, but I heard rumors. I watched some of Nathan's speeches online, and they infuriated me. I could hear this movement implied when he talked about change. The more I learned, even though it was sparse, was shocking and provoking. All I could think about as I heard of it was how history was repeating a horrible era.

* * *

About a week later, as I was in the middle of an experiment with Dr. Bishop, I heard Agent Dunham at the door say, "I am sorry, Senator, but this area is classified."

"Yes, Agent Dunham." The voice made me stop what I was doing. It was Nathan. I wanted to turn back and look at him, but I didn't want me to see me. "But it is my understanding that a Gabriel Bonhomme works here."

"I cannot confirm or deny that."

"Please. He's my second cousin. I nearly became his guardian. I am not here to inquire about his classified activities; I just request a moment of his time to talk to him as a caring family member."

"Wait one minute." She closed the door and approached me. "Nathan Petrelli is here. He wants to talk to you."

"_Oui, _I heard," I answered. "I don't want to talk to him."

"Gabe, if I were you, I would give him a chance. He's the only one who can explain to you what's going on."

"Tell him I am busy."

"No," Dr. Bishop suddenly spoke up. "This can wait."

"Dr. Bishop!"

"Gavin–"

"Gabe!"

"Yes, you should never shut out a family member in his time of need, especially to pursue your work. Take it from someone who has lived with such a regret for longer than you have been alive."

"You never had a family member hunt you down like an animal!"

"His intentions may be more noble than you realize. Give him a chance."

I still didn't want to, but I had a feeling that they weren't going to give me another option. I went outside. He was smiling when he saw me. He greeted me warmly in French, "_Bonjour, Gabriel. Comment t'allez vous?_" which is to say, "Hello, Gabriel. How are you?"

I didn't smile back but answered, "_Bien, aucuns merci a vous," _or "Fine, no thanks to you."

His smile only faded a little. "Let's take a walk," he said.

So we strolled the grounds in uncomfortable silence for a while. Nathan looked at the buildings with an expression that said he was impressed. "Harvard, huh?" he finally said aloud. "So, you're going to school here now. And it's really been paid in full?"

"That is so," I answered in monotone.

"Wow, I'm envious. Really, you're very fortunate to have such an opportunity."

"More fortunate than most, as I understand."

Nathan sighed. "Alright, let's get into it. Sit down." We sat on a bench, and he turned to me, his face filled with concern that I was not sure was genuine. "I need you to try to understand and appreciate what I'm doing. See . . . if you were able to cure autism, wouldn't you?"

"_NON! JAMAIS!" _I answered boldly, which means, "No, never!"

He knelt his head down and looked at me closer. "Don't you think that's a bit selfish?"

I was shocked that he would make such an accusation. It felt like a punch in the stomach.

"I mean, sure, I understand why you don't want to be cured. You can support yourself, and you're doing fine, and it may have even led to some benefits. But what about autistic people who are more severe, like Harmony? People who can't communicate or function, people who really need help. You're telling me you won't cure them?"

"They can still benefit from better resources and people with enough patience to get on their level and teach them some things."

"Well, that's easier said than done."

"But it has been done! I'll tell you what's selfish–forcing people to change who don't want to change, just so they can be more like you!"

"Gabriel–"

"And don't call me Gabriel! I don't want to share Sylar's name. Call me Gabe!"

"I'm sorry, Gabe, these abilities are dangerous. You just brought Sylar up. How would you like it if the world was full of Sylars?"

"But it isn't!"

"It could be. There's no telling what's going to happen. They have to be stopped."

"Listen, you can rationalize all you want. I know exactly what's going on. It happened before a hundred ago, all around the world. It was a period called eugenics. And what happened during this era was everyone who didn't fit the norm, mostly people with disabilities, had their rights restricted. They weren't allowed to marry. They weren't allowed to have children. They weren't allowed to go to institution of higher learning like this. They were basically pushed to the side, rounded up in asylums. Family members would disown them, throw them in the streets because they were ashamed. But it was at its worst in Germany. Do you really want me to tell you what they did to disabled people there?"

Nathan shook his head. "This is nothing like that. Look, I respect the humanity of everyone. I'm not going to restrict rights, and nobody is going to die." He bit his lip when he said that, which Dr. Lightman said is an indication that the speaker doesn't believe in what he's saying. "I just want to make everything better and go back to the way it used to be–safe, consistent, normal."

No, no, not that word! He just doesn't get it. "That's not what you're after. That's what you think you're after, but it's not. You want something unobtainable. You want . . . an Aryan race!"

"Hey, I resent that. You take it back."

"No! Hitler wanted a race that he thought was perfect–white, blond haired, and blue eyed. But he was a hypocrite. He didn't have blond hair and blue eyes. His hair was dark, his eyes were brown, and he was HALF-JEWISH! And you, sir, you are also a hypocrite! You are the very thing you despise, and yet you begin eugenics again, this neo-eugenics! I am glad I didn't come to America all those years ago, for what propaganda would you raise me under, Hitler?"

Nathan stood. "Well, I see I am not going to convince you. I am very sorry you feel this way. Have a good night."

He got up and started walking away, but I stood and yelled at him, "Hitler! Hitler! HEIL EUGENE HITLER!"

I returned to the lab, shut the door behind me, and buried my head into my hands. I just felt tired, maybe a little sad. Everyone was staring at me, so I explained exactly what happened. "I thought . . . I thought we were better than this. In this day and age, I thought we were more . . . accepting."

"Some things are hard to change," Astrid said sadly. I am sure she knew what she was talking about; she is of African descent.

"All the same," Dr. Bishop spoke up, "I think you were being too hard on him. After all, let us not forget the discoveries in medical science the Holocaust brought us, discoveries we may not have found otherwise."

I looked at Dr. Bishop in shock. "Are you actually defending him?"

"Not at all. It is true that the thirties and forties in Germany were atrocious and unforgivable, yet one must acknowledge that some important things came of it. Science often comes with suffering, sometimes with sacrifice. Please keep this in mind."

I still admire Dr. Bishop, but when he says things like this, he greatly troubles me. Sometimes, I am not sure if I can call him my friend. There are even some times when I think he only sees me as a test subject, a lab rat. I wonder if he even sees me as a person at all. Does he see anyone as a person, for that matter? Peter Bishop, his son, tells me to ignore him in such cases, like he doesn't know what he is saying. But since I am not convinced that Dr. Bishop is crazy, I think he knows what he's saying full well.

Weeks passed by, and I kept my ear to the ground. That means I watched the Internet very closely to see if anyone was abducted by my cousin's plan. Of course, I saw, and heard, nothing. Every chance I got, I asked the FBI agents, like Monsieur Broyles and Mademoiselle Dunham, if they had any information about this atrocity. They did not say anything but urged me to concentrate on my own tasks. It was so hard, because I was worried. My best friends were in danger, and worse . . . my papa.

I had been worried about him for a long time, but this made it worse. You see, he came with me on the plane. After we landed, I asked him, "So, Papa, what are you going to be studying at Harvard? Do they have a new collection on an American poet?"

Papa shook his head. "Son, I'm not going to Harvard."

"But I thought that was why you were coming with me, to do research."

"I never told you that."

"Why else would you be coming with me? Oh, has the spy got you doing another assignment?"

"No, this has nothing to do with him." We stepped onto the moving sidewalk. "I wasn't sure about the best way to tell you. Gabriel, I'm going on a sabbatical."

"A sabbatical? You were on a sabbatical for four years!"

"Yes, but during this time, everyone thought I was dead. This time, it's completely voluntary."

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"I'm taking a pilgrimage."

"To where?"

"I don't know."

"How can you take a pilgrimage and not know where you're going? I thought that was the definition of a pilgrimage–a journey with a definite destination, usually for religious reasons."

"It's not the destination I am concerned with, son. I'm pursuing a person."

"Who?"

"Uh, me!"

"You? Why would you need to pursue you?"

"I need to change, Gabriel. You know how challenging I have found life since I came out of Northpoint. I need to become an individual who is more loving, caring, and most of all forgiving, more like what God wants me to be."

"But you are loving and caring and all that stuff."

"But I could be more. I can learn more."

"But why did you come here to do it?"

"I have my reasons." We went to the place with our luggage. Papa took his suitcase off the conveyor belt. "This is going to be a very bare bones trip for me. I've decided, I'm going to go without knowing what's going on in the world. No television, radio, newspaper, computer, or cellphone." He pulled his phone out of the suitcase and tossed it to me.

"Will you use your powers?"

"Of course I will. This is how God has blessed me. He intended me to use them."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know that either. When I know I'm ready, I'll come back to Harvard and find you."

"Papa, how will I know if you're OK? Anything could happen to you!"

"That's why it's important for you to pray for me."

I got my suitcase and asked, "Papa, does this have anything to do with Sylar?" But when I looked up, he was gone. That was months ago.

What troubled me all this time was that he had not been completely truthful. The murderer who shares my name, I thought I saw him die, burned alive. I felt safe, but just a few hours later, Papa told me that he saved his life. He was convinced that this killer, who went by the name Sylar, had changed, even that he was close to being a Christian. I was not. After all, just a few minutes before he supposedly died, Sylar tried to kill me again, as well as my great aunt. I feared for the longest time that Sylar would find him and murder him with a quick swipe across the forehead. Now, I was afraid of so much more. I feared he might go back to Northpoint, the research group that kidnaped him for four years and played with his autism and his superbilities until he escaped. Only this time, I may never see him again.

* * *

"Now, please leave."

He wanted to kill him. He deserved it for deserting him all those years ago and for lying that he was his father. His finger moved to commit the fatal stroke, but he stopped. That buzz, that tingle in the back of his brain came back out of nowhere. Why? He had already established that this man was telling the truth. Then, it occurred to him. Someone was deceiving him without a word, right before his eyes.

He walked briskly out of the watch shop and looked all around. "I know you're here," he said aloud. "Show yourself." But nothing moved. "I said show yourself! Come out! Are you a coward? Why are you even here? Why bother yourself with me?" He couldn't believe it. There was still not a bit of movement. He started to pace around, trying to find some clue what form he took, but the lying ability offered no help. It just kept going off, not getting any stronger or weaker. He tore at his hair and yelled out, "WHERE ARE YOU, MICHAEL?" Still nothing. Well, he couldn't do this all day. He had to find his real father, so he followed the address. He thought maybe the feeling would follow him, but it didn't seem to.

* * *

It was actually a while that I heard anything about this again. And again, there was nearly an arrest. I was helping a classmate of mine, who I will call Wiki. He was in a government class with me. I helped him with a paper. We had to write about an American senator, and I suggested that he write about Nathan Petrelli. Wiki was just as appalled about Nathan; I had to tell him because he also had Asperger's, and I suspected he had a superbility. We ended up discovering it the hard way.

Wiki had to attend a plagiarism hearing. Our professor did not believe what he said regarding neo-eugenics, so he ran it through plagiarism software and was astonished to find that there was a 100% match to a wikipedia article on Nathan Petrelli. I knew it couldn't be plagiarized because I helped Wiki write it. Luckily, the night before the hearing, we found the truth. The time signature on the wikipedia article from when it was last modified matched the time that Wiki saved his final draft to the second! We began to understand from that–his mind was connected to the world wide web, especially to places like wikipedia, Google, and Yahoo. I always wondered because every time I inquired Wiki about something, he would tell me an incredible amount of information on it. We weren't sure if the professor would really believe something like that, but when we showed them the evidence, they were convinced that Wiki could not have possibly copied and pasted the whole article in less than a second. So they let him go.

We walked across campus. I offered that we get a milkshake to celebrate, but Wiki still felt off about it. He couldn't explain why. He suggested maybe it was because we didn't tell them the whole truth. I stopped and turned to him to answer, but then we were suddenly surrounded again.

"Don't be scared," I whispered to Wiki. "I know what to do." I flashed my badge again and yelled, "I told you! I have amnesty! I work for the FBI!"

"Will you relax?" the cold voice of the albino man said. "We're not even here for you. We're here for him."

"Him? Why?"

"That's none of your business."

"But-but I've done nothing wrong!" Wiki yelled out.

"Down on the ground! Hands where I can see them!"

We fell to our knees, but as we raised our arms I whispered again, "Take my hand."

"Why?"

"Just do it. We're getting out of here."

Wiki grabbed my hand, and both of us were instantly surround by a brilliant blue light that knocked the soldiers back. Then, we ran as we could to the only safe place I knew–the lab. Upon getting there, I literally tossed Wiki over to Dr. Bishop. "Do something with him!"

"What?" the doctor asked.

"I don't care! Throw him in the tank, put him in one of your mind-reading dealies, or whatever you have, just do something!"

"What's the matter?" Peter demanded.

"They're after him. They'll arrest him and take him away. They wouldn't dare take him if he's in the middle of an experiment. It would ruin his mind. That's what you told me once, doctor."

"I did?" he asked.

"Yes! Look, it's a long story, and I don't have time to recount it. Just do something!"

So, Dr. Bishop did something and successfully kept Wiki away from the Nazis. And that is how the refuge started. About an hour later, though, it nearly ended just as quickly.

"What part of confidential don't you understand?" Broyles asked me angrily. "You knowingly brought an outsider into our classified laboratory!"

"But I needed to!" I argued. "He was going to be arrested, just as I was a few weeks ago."

"There's a difference with this kid and you, though, Mr. Bonhomme; he doesn't have amnesty!"

"Well, isn't he protected here? Doesn't my bringing him take him under my wing? Can't he share my amnesty?"

"I don't believe we can easily make that argument."

"We have to! This is why I'm here! Peter keeps asking me what I'm doing here, and this is why. I'm not just here to satisfy Dr. Bishop's occasional food cravings or to give Astrid a second pair of hands. I am here to help you understand the helix and the Circle! I am here to help you understand this limitation theory! How can I do that if I don't bring in people for Dr. Bishop to examine? I have to show you."

"Fine. I'll overlook this because he is on the autism spectrum. You are right, Bonhomme, you are here to help us understand. However, I must caution you not to let this get out of hand. Remember our agreement. One leak. And again, I am not sure that this group will be as easily convinced."

Didn't I tell you? And this was only the beginning.

* * *

As soon as he came to the taxidermy store, he felt it again. The tingle, the buzz, the lie. He looked around in outrage. "I knew it! You followed me here, didn't you? Admit it! Tell me so! There's no point in hiding, Michael Bonhomme, I know you're here. What do you want from me? You're trying to stop me? Well, you won't! I'm going to find my father, and when I do . . . you know what's going to happen."

There was never any movement. He had enough of looking crazy, so he went inside.

* * *

The next day, the game changed completely. Agent Broyles asked to see me. I was initially worried I was in trouble, but there was a trace of sadness in his usually stony expression. "I have bad news, Bonhomme. We have just been informed of some information not yet released to the public, and it concerns you. A plane crashed just outside of Russellville, Arkansas bearing passengers assigned for relocation. Those on board included: Tracy Strauss, Matthew Parkman, Claire Bennet, Noah Bennet, Mohinder Suresh–"

"Mohinder?!" I whispered.

"–Hiro Nakamura–"

"Hiro?!"

"–Hanami Nakamura–."

"_Non!!!"_

"–and Peter Petrelli."

"I don't believe it! Not Peter! Well, surely they escaped. Were their any survivors?"

"No survivors have been found as of yet, but it doesn't look good, Bonhomme. The remains of the plane exploded by an air strike. Nothing is left."

"_Non_. So, all of my friends . . . wait, what about Monsieur Rains?"

"Who?"

"Monsieur Claude Rains. He's British. Actually, he would difficult to find because he's invisible."

"I don't see anything about him here."

"What about my father? Please tell me he wasn't on that plane! Please, tell me he's alive!"

"All I can tell you is what I have told you already!"

"You said 'included'! That means there were others! What about Sylar? Was he there? Tell me he was, or everyone else has died in vain!"

"I am sorry, Gabe."

So, of course I felt very down all day. I went ahead and went to class and did my usual tasks, but my heart was not in it. I felt like everyone I knew was dead, which is strange because I only knew them for a few years. But then again, they were like the only true friends I had. In my heart, though, I knew I had to push on. I knew I had to fight now because eugenics had indeed begun again. I was determined to stop it before it claimed any more lives, though I had no idea how.

I had lunch with Wiki, and I was very silent as I ate my sandwich. He was silent, too, until suddenly he told me, "They're not dead."

I looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

He simply looked at me and repeated, "They're not dead."

"How do you know about that? I hadn't said a word."

He turned away and stared into space. "I don't know. All I know is Rebel says, 'They're not dead.'"

"Who is Rebel?"

Wiki didn't answer. He took a sip from his milk, wiped his lip, and said, "They're coming. I am sending them to you."

Before I could ask another question, Wiki got up and left. Then, just behind him, I saw the man with no hair sitting in a booth and staring at me again. Did he have something to do with this strange message?

I wasn't sure what Wiki meant until that evening. I was closing up the lab, and Gene was making a ruckus, stamping her feet and mooing loudly. "What is it, girl?" I asked approaching her. "What's the matter? Is it a mouse?" I was a bit afraid to come into the stall because she kept making frightened noises. I kept trying to speak to her calmly.

But as I came closer, I saw it was more than a mouse. I saw a hand gently stroke her nose and someone whisper, "Easy, Bessie, easy." It was a stranger in the lab! I was about to demand that he identify himself and even got out the phone to call Mademoiselle Dunham, but then he looked at me, and I stopped cold. "Word to the wise–most people get a dog."

It was Monsieur Rains.

To Be Continued . . .


	2. Paranoia

Chapter 2: Paranoia

I just stood there for a moment, staring at my friend, the self-proclaimed "misanthrope" who still was somehow very helpful and even occasionally has given me wisdom. I was just astonished that he was here. So many thoughts, so many questions ran through my head. Most of all, though, I was relieved that he was alive, that he wasn't on that doomed flight. So I ran to him and flung my arms around his shoulders.

He immediately pushed me away. "Whoa! What was that?"

"I-I-I thought you were dead," I stammered.

"That's nothing. A lot of people think I'm dead. They don't usually hug me."

"It's just that every one else is dead: Mohinder, Peter, Hiro, Hanami . . ."

Monsieur Rains shrugged and said sarcastically, "Oob-la-dee, oob-la-dah, life goes on."

I couldn't think of a reply to that, so the other questions started spilling out. "What are you–how did you–why–how did you get in here?"

"I snuck past that pale bloke as he was holding the door open for the tall blonde lass."

"But how did you know I was here? I mean, you're not even supposed to be here! I could get in big trouble. Monsieur Broyles always says, 'One leak, and–'"

"Look, I was told you could help us. So can you help us or not?"

"Well, I want to, but . . . wait." There were a couple of questions that came from that statement. A big one was who told him I could help, but the one I asked first was, "What do you mean, 'us'?"

"Oh, did I not mention that I'm not alone?" He gestured to the back of Gene's stall.

I came closer and saw someone sleeping in the hay, a boy whom I recognized. "Thomas?"

"So, that's his name. He wouldn't tell me."

"He's the little brother of someone I used to work with. He has Fragile X Syndrome. I not sure if he's nonverbal or if he just doesn't like to talk."

"Yeah, I got that far."

"I usually see him sitting on the bridge at the pebble beaches at Nice, overlooking the sea. So, what's he doing here?"

I could barely believe what Monsieur Rains answered. "I saved his life."

"Saved his life? You mean . . . you rescued him? You, the misanthrope, the hater of humanity?"

"Oi, you don't know me as well as you think you do. I am complex, mate."

"OK, OK, it's just . . . there's something about this that makes it difficult to swallow. To start, I guess, what were you doing in Nice?"

"It wasn't at Nice. It was at London."

"Alright, then, what was he doing in London?"

"How should I know? One moment, I was minding my own business, the next this boy ran past me like he had the Devil on his heels. And as it turned out, he did."

"He . . . had a devil on his heels?"

Monsieur Rains rolled his eyes and sighed. "Right, you're so literal minded. They were a bunch of blokes in black jackets. They all had very specific guns. One of them had the exact same gun that I used to own."

"So they were from Northpoint!"

"Or some division of the Company, but it's not like them to be out in the open, in front of all to see. So I feared whatever they were up to affected me too. So I ran after him. That kid is quite a runner. He overtook several blocks without slowing down. Then they cornered him at the Thames, and he didn't think twice. He just jumped in. Then we all figured out that though he was a good runner, he wasn't a swimmer. There wasn't a single splash. I guess they decided that he drowned, because the whole company left, and as soon as they were out of sight, I plunged in after him. You know, he kinda struggled against me. I almost wondered if he wanted to be saved, but I brought back to the surface and got him breathing again. I asked who the men were, what they wanted, what his name was, but he wouldn't tell me a thing. And then the iPhone I nicked just a few days ago rang. It was a wonder it was still working after being plunged in water. I was about to hang up when it came up with a text. It read that there was a flight going to Boston leaving at noon with two vacant seats. If we took it, we would find help. With a few choice words, I replied asking who this was and how he got this number, and I got an answer almost instantly. And . . . well, have a look."

He dialed up the message and handed the phone. I read aloud, "'I know exactly who you are, Claude. And I am your ally. I am sending you to Gabe Bonhomme, who can save you. –Rebel' Wait . . . Rebel!"

"You know him?"

"No, but a friend of mine mentioned getting a message from Rebel. So, he told you how to find me?"

"Right."

"How does he know?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? We're dealing with Big Brother here! He's everywhere, watching us. No telling if he's on our side."

"Sounds like he is. He says he wants to help, but if wanted to help me, he would not endanger my job, my confidentiality. OK, I think I can explain Thomas. I went into quite a diatribe with my boss yesterday about bringing in more autistic people with powers. You, on the other hand, need to lay low."

Monsieur Rains loudly chuckled. "'Lay low,' he says. What have I been doing for these past ten years?"

"Oh . . . right. Well, at least you know how to do it. I'll get you some food. You can probably keep Gene company."

He laughed again. "Gene? You know it's a female."

"I didn't name her. Dr. Bishop did."

Suddenly, his tone changed to more concern. "Bishop?"

"Yes, and I don't like it. Gene is short for Eugene, which came from the same word as Eugenics."

"You don't mean . . . Walter Bishop?"

"That's right. Why, do you know him?"

"What's he doing out of the loony bin?"

"He's not really crazy. I think he's misdiagnosed."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

"Well, his son got him out. I don't know the whole story, but he's working with the FBI now, like I am."

He shook his head. "Strange world." He fell backward into the hay. "I'm not very hungry now, just tired. Jet lag, you know."

"I guess I'll let you sleep."

"Alright."

I was about to leave, but I stopped and smiled. "You know, I am really glad to see you here. Because there's something I wanted to ask you for a very long time, something important."

"Well, what are you standing there for talking about it? Ask or don't!"

Probably his frustration created a blank in my mind. "I can't remember. I'll ask you when I think about it."

* * *

Mr. Parkman drew lots of pretty pictures. Hanami drew some, too. Uncle Hiro gave her pink clothes to wear. He was very sad and worried about her. She heard him say to Mr. Mohinder that he was going to do everything to protect her, and he said that this was not a safe place for her. But she wasn't scared. She remembered Mr. Mohinder and Mr. Parkman, and they were nice. They wouldn't let her get hurt.

Mr. Mohinder and Uncle Hiro came closer. "Do you have any idea what they mean?" Mr. Mohinder said.

She looked over to see the pictures Mr. Parkman was drawing. "Gabriel!" she cried out.

Uncle Hiro picked it up. "That is Gabriel."

"But he wasn't even on the plane," Mr. Mohinder said.

"This is probably somewhere at Harvard University."

"Alright, this is nuts," Mr. Parkman said. "I don't want this!"

"You have mine?" Hanami said, giving him her picture.

Mr. Parkman took it and smiled. "Thanks, Honey." That almost sounded like her name.

"Matt, they will find us here. We have to go," Mr. Mohinder said.

"But if these visions are real, Daphne's in trouble. I have to get back!" He ran away.

"That's insane! Those men will kill you!"

"I'm not going to leave her!"

They ran after him to the tall hill. That's where Hanami was scared. She was with Uncle Hiro and she saw Mr. Masahashi, Mr. Mohinder, Mr. Parkman, and that funny woman that ran very fast who she couldn't remember her name, and the cheerleader. Everybody got together, so happy, and then the cheerleader said, "Guys, we gotta get out of here!"

"She's right. I can't carry all these people at once," the funny lady said.

"Nemesis," Uncle Hiro said, "please take Hanami to Harvard University. Look for Gabriel."

"Gabriel!" the cheerleader suddenly said. "Good, he's got . . . wait, tell him never to surrender his amnesty, no matter what! They're gonna try and make him give it up."

The funny lady nodded. "Alright, I'll do it. I'll tell him. Just give me a minute to–"

"DAPHNE!" Mr. Parkman yelled.

But then, there was a loud sound, like thunder. When she heard it, the funny lady fell down. The cheerleader pushed Hanami into a rock. The sound just wouldn't stop! Hanami didn't know where it came from. She covered her ears and started to cry, "Make it stop! Make it stop!"

And then a very scary man who looked like a skeleton came down to her. "I'll make it stop," he said in Hanami's language. Then he pointed a very scary black thing at her.

"No!" the cheerleader yelled and ran in between them. The scary man smiled, gestured to the cheerleader with the black thing, and led her away.

"Hanami, over here! Let's go!" Uncle Hiro called. Hanami followed.

* * *

Late the next morning, I walked with Wiki to lunch. The moment I caught up to his stride, I said, "Tell me about Rebel."

He did not look at me but replied rather quickly, "A rebel is a participant in a rebellion, one who resists authority. Disambiguation: _Rebel Without a Cause_–film starring Jimmy Dean, 'Rebel Yell'–hit song by Billy Idol, _The Fairy Reb_–"

"_Non, non, non,_ Wiki, I wasn't making an inquiry. I was asking you about the person who sent you that message yesterday. Is there anything you can tell me about him, or her?"

Wiki shook his head in frustration, "I know absolutely nothing. All I can tell you is that I saw the message in my head. It told me to say it out loud to you."

"Is there anyway you can communicate with Rebel?"

"If I knew where it was coming from, maybe. It looks like a chatroom, but I can't make out the URL."

"Well, if you ever find a way, let me know. I have a few questions for him."

"What do you want to know?"

I didn't answer right away because I wanted to find someway to phrase it.

"What do you want to know, Gabe?"

I don't know what it was, but the way he said that told me it was not from him. So I stopped and looked him in the eye. He looked very confused. "How do you know all this?"

Wiki didn't answer for a moment, but then he said in a rather stilted voice, "The FBI isn't as secret as it thinks it is. I have access to security cameras, live feeds from computers, everything."

"You're a hacker!"

"You can say that. But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me. I will only divulge it if needed."

"No, that's not good enough! One leak, and I'm finished."

"It has to be, Gabe. You have amnesty. We have to make sacrifices. We're all fighting a battle, and no one likes to be defeated. I refuse to lose."

"Whose side are you on?"

"Whose side are _you _on?" Then, Wiki blinked a couple of times, shook his head, and walked away. I caught up to him, but he didn't say anything.

I convinced Dr. Bishop to run some tests on Thomas. Everyone seemed very unconvinced that he had "empathetic synesthesia," or the ability to affect others' senses, but I knew that was his power. Dr. Bishop was particularly fascinated when I described how fast Thomas ran from the police, mentioning that patients with Fragile X syndrome were usually flat-footed. I have no idea where he got that information, but he seemed to think that it was more likely Thomas had super-speed. He had Thomas running on a treadmill most of the time. I wanted to test Wiki too, but he had seemed distant all day.

In the evening, I bought an extra pizza and drink, took it back with me to the lab, and gave it to Monsieur Rains. It was clear he was hungry then because he devoured it. He was also in an uncommonly good mood, well, for him.

"Did you sleep well?" I asked.

"Well, it's very cold, the floor's hard, and the room smells like chemicals and cow you-know-what. So what do you think?"

I chuckled. "_Je suis tres desole_," I apologized. "I wish I could get you a dorm room. Those are rather nice."

"Believe it or not, I've had much worse. I slept in a graveyard once."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I was in a trickster phase. Nothing more I loved than playing 'Ghost,' especially on cold, misty autumn evenings."

"Even then, you didn't sleep well?"

"I haven't slept well in years. It actually has nothing to do with the surroundings."

"Really?"

"So," Monsieur Rains suddenly said loudly, "what brings you to the second-best university in the world?"

I laughed. "Second?"

"Of course, everyone knows the greatest university was, is, and always will be Oxford."

"I suppose that's where you went?"

"For a time, yes, and you can't really argue against the school where Shakespeare attended."

"True. Well, I actually finished my university education, but I'm auditing some courses to say that I attended here, to improve my resume, you see."

"So, what's your favorite?"

"Oh," I shook my head. "I hate picking favorites. I love them all. Well, I guess my favorite class is an unofficial independent study in understanding nonverbal communication." I pulled out of my backpack one of my Lightman books, _Lies We Tell._

"Ah," Monsieur Rains said as he took the book out of my hands. He turned it over to the black-and-white portrait of the author and said in a James Bond villain kind of voice, "We meet again, Dr. Lightman."

"You know him?"

"Not personally, no, but Noah Bennet was obsessed with him! Back when we were working together, he read Dr. Cal Lightman's dissertation cover to cover. And then when he became more noteworthy, Noah got all his books and attended a couple of his lectures. He told me that I looked a lot like him, when I'm visible of course. It's probably because he's another Brit. I told him I was better looking and taller. Well . . . the latter's still true."

"Well, that's cool. I ought to ask him about what he knows next time I see him. Maybe he could help me."

"Whoa. Wait right there. Do you know why Noah was so interested in Dr. Lightman's research?"

"So he could tell when people were lying? He'd probably need it in this business."

"Not as much as you'd think. No, actually, he was trying to learn the tricks of the trade himself. He wanted to learn all the dead giveaways that one was lying so that he wouldn't do them. Essentially, he wanted to learn to be the world's best liar. That way, he could get away with his life without his wife of his loved ones knowing all the terrible things he was doing, and no one would be the wiser."

"So, how do you trust him?"

"Oh, that's easy. Don't."

"But, what if–?"

"DON'T!" I watched as he pronounced that word very precisely. "If you want to be safe, never believe a word that falls from his lips. There is no way to tell when he's telling the truth and when he's not. Once you trust him, he's gotcha. Take it from someone who knows, someone who learned the hard way."

I didn't want to believe him. The spy has proven to be my friend. He has helped me out of some dangerous situations, and he's been very kind. His daughter is very kind. Yet, still, he was a spy. And what Monsieur Rains said was true. Spies aren't trustworthy. These words were put to the test the next day.

* * *

Hanami rode with Uncle Hiro and Mr. Masahashi in the back of a truck, which was very fun. When they got off, there was a rope swing. Hanami began to swing on it. Mr. Mohinder and Mr. Parkman were there, and then Mr. Petrelli flew in. "Toss your cell phones!" he said. "This is the last time we get together to use these things. If we can find each other, so can they. I figure we have fifteen minutes."

"Understood," Mr. Mohinder said. "You need to see these." He showed Mr. Petrelli Mr. Parkman's pictures.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Matt drew them after the crash. He has Isaac's gift." He handed one picture to Uncle Hiro. "I recognize this building, the Divya Velukkai, New Delhi."

"The warrior must have a sword. I must regain my powers. It is my destiny to go there!" Uncle Hiro said bravely. "But something needs to be done about Hanami. I am worried. This is not safe for her. Where is that picture of her?"

Mr. Mohinder flipped through the pictures. "Here it is." It was a picture of Hanami standing in front of a building with many columns as Gabriel held her shoulders.

"I know where Gabriel is," Uncle Hiro said. "I was talking with him on the phone the other day. He's at Harvard University, his new job. But I don't know this place."

"It's Widener Library," Mr. Petrelli said. "I used to meet Nathan there sometimes."

"Will you take her there?"

"I will. What's Gabriel's job? How'd he get out of this?"

"Claire said something about am-nes-ty. He wouldn't tell me much, but he said he worked for the American government."

"The government? Well, are you sure he's on our side?"

"I don't know. I'd like to think so."

"There are a lot of things I'd like to think, but I don't have that luxury anymore. Let's get one things straight. Our lives as we knew them are over. We can't go back to anything that we knew."

"Then what do we do?" Mr. Masahashi asked.

"We bring the fight to them, with everything we've got," Mr. Parkman answered.

"It won't be easy," Mr. Petrelli said. "Credit cards, bank accounts, they're gone. Homes are going to be watched, can't trust the phones. We gotta find a way to defend ourselves. We leave everything. We do what it takes to survive, things we can't even imagine. Remember, they're gonna come for us, and when that day comes, we have to be ready."

Those kinds of things made Hanami very scared, but everyone nodded. Uncle Hiro hugged Hanami. "Be safe, little one. Say hello to Gabriel for me."

"_Hai," _she nodded.

"Come on, Hanami, on my back," Mr. Petrelli said. He knelt down, and Hanami got on top of his back. "Hold on, nice and tight. OK, here we go." Then, he flew. That was probably the most fun of all.

* * *

I was one of the first people to get to the cafeteria for breakfast. I got a tray with omelette, fruit, and coffee. I sat alone and opened _Lies We Tell _to a chapter about microexpressions when someone joined me. I looked up and saw him smile. "Hi, Gabriel."

"Spy! What are you doing here?"

He continued to grin as he stirred his coffee. "I heard you were a student here, and thought I'd drop by to see you."

"I heard you were in that crash. So, you survived."

He nodded. "Yes, I did."

"And your daughter?"

He didn't answer but looked down for a moment. "What's that you're reading?" He picked up the book. "Oh, Dr. Cal Lightman! I used to be a big fan. Don't think I've read this one."

"It's the newest one. You know, I heard you studied him at great length. Maybe you can help me with some of the things he teaches."

"I wouldn't get too deep into this, Gabriel."

"Call me Gabe, please."

"Sorry, Gabe. He went through a rather nasty divorce. It's my understanding that he noticed lies everywhere and therefore didn't trust his wife. It's pretty sad actually."

"Well still, I must learn something. Something is better than nothing. I can't recognize nonverbal communication! Someone has to teach me."

"You know, that's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. See, I've been thinking about what you said to me that last time we talked, about how normal doesn't exist. And I've been thinking, maybe you're right. There are so many . . . unusual people in this world, people with abilities, people with disabilities, other races, other cultures. It's so diverse. Who am I to think that normalcy exists?"

I nodded, "Exactly."

"And you know, I think it would do a lot of good if you taught more people this message."

"You want me to go out and teach people?"

"Better yet, set yourself up as an example. Show the world that you may not be normal, but you're still unique, still fascinating. You are really part of the norm. I can get you on television, radio, internet, anywhere where you can tell your story and motivate people like you everywhere. What do you say?"

He held out his hand I looked very closely at his face for microexpressions, but he made none. His face seemed full of warmth and kindness. But I still wasn't sure if he was telling the truth. Monsieur Rains's warning rang in my head, and I thought about running away immediately.

"Go on, Gabe. You know me. You can trust me."

I stood up, still not sure what to do. I even started reaching out my hand, but at that moment it was grabbed. "Gabe, come on! We'll be late for class!" Wiki dragged me after him, and as we got farther away from the cafeteria, he broke into a run.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Class isn't for another hour!"

"Rebel says he came here to convince you to give up your amnesty. He was going to take you away!" he answered. I was astounded by that. So, Monsieur Rains was right! And I almost fell for it, too.

* * *

It was night when Mr. Petrelli stopped and let Hanami down. "Here you go. I'll wait to see Gabriel come get you. Now, don't tell him I'm the one who brought you here, and if he or anyone else tries to take you away, run as fast as you can. Understand me?"

"_Hai," _Hanami answered, nodding. Mr. Petrelli hid behind a bench, and Hanami stood alone. No one else was there, except for a strange man wearing a hat. He was also watching Hanami, and he wouldn't stop. Hanami very cautiously went up to him. "Hello," she said.

"Hello," he said.

"Do you know Gabriel?"

"Yes."

* * *

I was reeling about what happened in the cafeteria this morning. That evening, I thought about reading my mother's diary to get perspective on it. You see, Mama passed away when I was still an infant, but I have her diary. When I read it, I can actually see what happened in her life. A month before she died, she came with me to America and met with her aunt and uncle, the Petrellis. She also saw Hiro's parents and Monsieur Rains, so she must have–wait a minute! I grabbed the diary and went straight to the lab. "I remember what it was I wanted to ask you," I said.

"Took you long enough," Monsieur Rains sneered.

I crouched down on my knees and looked him in the eye. "What did you read in my mother's diary?"

He laughed obliviously. "And who is your mother?"

"Don't pretend you don't know." I tossed the diary over to him. His expression changed almost to the same look of fear I saw in him when he first opened the book. "Almost twenty years ago on a rainy night, you gave this to my Great Aunt Angela Petrelli. It was recently handed down to me."

"Well, I'll tell you exactly what I told her."

I said it with him, "You're smart. You can read, can't you?"

"So, you know."

"She told me. But I can't read it. Every time I try, I see random images. I can't focus. I can't see ink or pencil or paper or words. It just keeps coming at me, all these pictures from the past and the future. I don't know what she's trying to tell me!" He just stared at me, and I said with some exasperation, "You see, I don't read it the same way you do. When I open it, I see her life. I live it with her. I hear her have conversations she didn't even write down."

"You think that's because of some sort of mother/son bond?"

"I don't know what it is. It could be my autism or my reading ability gone amuck."

He shook his head. "It's not just you, Gabriel." He sighed and looked away. "I made a mistake. I thought she was like her aunt, a prophetess. I was just curious. I was watching her write so feverishly in that book. I wondered what all the fuss was about. Hindsight being 20/20, I should have remembered that she just tried to kill herself because the vision she saw was too bleak." He paused and looked at me. "She was more than a prophetess. That book breathes. I swear it had a pulse. It probably bleeds ink if you tore a page. That may have frightened me more than anything. As for what I saw . . . well, I'm not a saint, or a poet. I can't put words to it. But I'll tell you this, Gabriel. It changed me. You see, for days afterword, I had nightmares of what I saw. Every night, I'd wake in a cold sweat, my throat sore from screaming. I even asked the Haitian to take thoughts out of my head so that I could get a decent night's rest, and he said he couldn't do it. He told me that it was like they were branded on my brain. It's probably the only time he ever spoke to me."

"Is that why you became a misanthrope?"

"No, far from it. You see, before then, I was much like Noah. 'Yes, sir, no, sir, I was only following orders.' My loyalty was entirely to the Company. I thought we were doing great things. But then I became more sensitive to the terrible things we were doing. Then I started working behind their backs, hiding people, becoming connected with them. I started becoming a misanthrope the day I understood I was the only one who cared, and then I started seeing how people really are and began to realize that they're not worth it. But every time I feel that way . . . I have nightmares again. The brand is still there. You ask me why I save lives even when I say I hate people? That's why. This is probably the last thing I should ever say to you, but . . . " He sighed and concluded, "Your mother ruined me!"

I would have said something, but just then, there was a knock at the door. I got up and answered it. "Wiki? What are you doing here?"

He was standing there with a very strange look on his face. It was like confusion and maybe a little fear. "Go to Widener Library," he said.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Rebel just told me to tell you to go to Widener Library." Then he blinked and added, "Someone's waiting there for you."

"Who?"

Wiki shook his head, but then he answered, "See for yourself."

So I went to Widener Library, and I could not believe my eyes. There she was standing in pink pajamas all alone. "Hanami? You're . . . you're alive?" I knelt down and put my hands on her shoulders to see if she was real. The moment my hands touched her, she glowed a brilliant yellow. "You are alive! You're here!" I hugged her, but she did not hug back. "Oh, how did you get here?"

She shook her head. "Can't say."

I nodded slowly. "Oh. That's alright. It doesn't matter. What matters is you're here, and you're OK. Hanami, what about your Uncle? Did he survive? What about Peter Petrelli or Mohinder?"

But she didn't answer. She just looked away. I took that to mean that they didn't make it. I hugged her again. "Oh, Hanami."

One she pulled away, she looked at me and said, "Gabriel, never surrender your amnesty, no matter what! They're gonna try and make you give it up."

I don't know how she knew about that, or if she even knew what amnesty was, but I looked at her. "Is it that bad, Hanami?"

"Our lives as we knew them are over. We can't go back to anything that we knew. Homes are going to be watched, can't trust the phones. We leave everything. We do what it takes to survive, things we can't even imagine. Remember, they're gonna come for us, and when that day comes, we have to be ready."

"Where did you hear that?"

But she wouldn't say. I held her hand and pulled her to my heart. "Oh, Hanami, we are in trouble." Thinking about what she just told me and everything that morning, I called Agent Dunham and asked her to take me straight to Agent Broyles. I went into his office holding Hanami's hand. "Agent Broyles, this is Hanami Nakamura. She survived the plane crash."

"How did she come here?" he asked.

"I don't know. She won't tell me."

"Can she talk?"

"Yes."

"Then she can tell you."

"Look, that's not why I came here. Save what you are doing and turn off your computer."

"Why?"

"Also turn off your cellphone, and if there's a security camera in here, shut it off. Someone is watching us through the electronics, and I want what I say next to be completely private."

"How do you know that?"

"I'll explain later."

So he shut off his computer and all other electronics, then turned to me. "Alright, what is it?"

"You were right. They are doing all they can to get to me. Somehow, they are trying to take away my amnesty so that they can take me away. The danger is not only to me but to my friends. Therefore, I have decided to stay where I know I am safe. From now on, I am not leaving the lab without an escort, and I will only leave for the basic necessities. I think it would be best if my friends stayed with me."

"The lab is not a motel. Where will you sleep?"

"On the floor, the counters, I was particularly thinking of the tank. I don't have to get set up for an experiment to sleep there."

"I don't like this, Mr. Bonhomme. I believe you are abusing your privilege."

"But this is an extreme circumstance. This is a battle, and we can't be defeated. More lives will be lost."

I talked with him for a little longer, and he reluctantly decided to give me my request. And that is when the refuge began. Agent Dunham and Peter Bishop helped get us situated. I got a few essentials from my room and went to the lab.

I remember that night. It was dark; we only had the moonlight in the window for light. I put my pillow right into the tank and was about to step in when I heard a strange groan.

"What?" Agent Dunham slowly walked toward where the sound was coming from–Gene the cow. "Is something wrong with Gene?"

I followed her to the stall, and I saw Monsieur Rains tossing and turning nearby. I knew she couldn't see him, so I just said, "I'll look into it later." Even when I got into the tank and closed the door behind me, I could still hear his groans. A couple of times, I think he even yelled, "No!"

To be continued . . .


	3. The First Sign of Madness

Chapter 3: The First Sign of Madness

I awoke the next morning to yelling. "No, I won't do it! I won't! Even I have limits! You can't make me! I won't let you!"

"Relax! Those days are over."

"Noooooooo! Get away from me!"

I slowly opened the door of the tank and looked around. Amazingly, the noise was coming from Dr. Bishop! Groggily, I got out of the tank to ask him what was going on, but he turned to me sharply. "Gregory! What are you doing here?"

"It's Gabe, and I–."

"Get out! Now!"

"But I–"

"Don't argue! Get out! Leave the lab! Now!"

I looked toward Gene's stall before Dr. Bishop pushed me out of the lab. Monsieur Rains was already up. All he did was shake his head and drew a circle in the air around his left air while pointing at Dr. Bishop with his thumb. I knew that was a sign that meant, "He's crazy." Dr. Bishop shut the door in my face. Well, the sun wasn't even up, so I just sat down at the door. I could hear Dr. Bishop continue to yell, and as I put my ear closer to the door, I couldn't hear exactly what was said, but it sounded like he was arguing with Monsieur Rains.

* * *

After about half an hour of being silent, that snotty kid spoke up again. "Well, I know you just said we're not stopping, but I gotta get out and stretch my legs for five minutes. There's a rest stop coming up, so–"

"Forget it."

"Alright, to be blunt, I gotta go . . . to, you know, the little boy's room."

"Hold it in."

"I have been. I'm about ready to explode, and I'm sure you don't want that for your car."

Well, the kid wasn't lying, so he pulled into the rest stop. Before the kid could get out, though, he held him back. "Listen to me. If you pull a Michael Corleone in there or make a run for it, I swear I will hunt you down and kill you."

The kid just threw his head back and laughed hard. Then he looked at him and said, "Sorry, man, you just sound so sick when you say that."

"What did you say?"

The boy suddenly looked frightened and apologetic. "No, no, no! It's a compliment, a good thing. You know, like when Michael Jackson made 'bad' into meaning 'good.'"

Just then, he felt the buzz in his brain again. He knew the thing about Michael Jackson wasn't a lie because he'd seen it happen, so it must mean . . . He turned away and whispered, "Michael . . ."

"Yeah, Michael . . . Jackson. Not Corle–"

"Well, are you going to go or not?"

"Oh." The boy threw off his seat belt and ran out. After about five minutes, he also unlocked himself and walked out.

"So," he said to the air, "you followed me here. How long have you been watching me? Did you see me torture Simmons? Are you not the least bit scared? Come on, show yourself! You coward! You spineless dreamer! Why do you keep hiding, searching? Searching for what? Why waste your time with me?"

"Dude, who are you talking to?"

He turned around. That kid was standing behind him with a stupid grin on his face. He glared at the stupid kid. "None of your business."

"You know, they say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness."

"I said it's none of your business. Get back in the car."

"Alright, I'm just saying."

This was going to be a long trip.

* * *

The good witch didn't visit Harmony very much anymore, but it was OK. Harmony was changing. Watching the same thing made her tired. She saw the whole movie of _Pinocchio_ once and not just the little song. Parts of it were kinda scary, but she liked most of it. She liked the Blue Fairy and the fishy and the kitty cat.

One day, Mommy promised her a surprise. They got in the car and drove down to a place Harmony knew. When they came to the front, a little parrot squawked happily, "Hello. So nice to see you."

"Hello. So nice to see you," Harmony said.

Then, Strom-bully came out. "Hello, what can I do for you?" he said.

"Strom-bully!" Harmony said, pointing to him.

He looked at her and said very softly, "Pinocchia."

"Um, no Honey, this is Mr. . . . uh . . ."

"Doyle, but she can call me that if she wants," he said. "I don't mind."

"Yes. Mr. Doyle, I hope we're not interrupting, but you are the only puppeteer I saw listed in the Yellow Pages. My daughter's autistic, you see, and she has an intense interest in puppets, especially marionettes. I haven't been able to contact her babysitter, so I was wondering if you would mind showing her some of your puppets, maybe even putting on a little show."

"She's autistic? Wow, I never would have guessed."

"Yes, well autism doesn't display any visible characteristics."

"She really is a cutie. You know, I don't think I would mind showing her around."

"Oh thank you. What do I owe you?"

"Don't worry about it. It's on the house. Come on in."

"Well, how generous of you. Come on, Honey."

Mother went inside. Before Harmony could follow her, Strom-bully looked down at her. He started moving his hand above her head as though he was trying to control her strings, but she didn't move. He put his hand down and nodded. Then he let her go in.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, I came back to the lab. I saw Dr. Bishop leaning against a counter. He did not look at me as I approached him, but he said, "I apologize for my outburst this morning, Gabby. I did not know your circumstance."

"Did Peter not tell you last night?"

"I was asleep when he came in. The Periodic Table can often be a natural sedative."

I smiled at that. He must have mentally rehearsed it, period numbers, atomic weights and all. He's a lot like me; Dr. Bishop has to think himself to sleep.

"But I do want you to understand. I was concerned for your safety. I came to milk Gene at 4:30 in the morning as I often do, and . . ."

"_Oui?"_

"I'm sorry. I don't think you'd believe this. Peter would not."

"Dr. Bishop, you know how I think of you. I know the things you say are true, even when they are not plausible. I don't agree with your son. I don't think you're crazy."

He looked at me with a frightened expression. "I tripped. And when I got to my feet, I saw someone there. Gabby–"

"Gabe."

"–you must learn to recognize this man. He can surround himself at will with an electromagnetic aura that cannot be penetrated by the visible spectrum of light. This hides his form, but he can be identified by a very specific Cockney British accent."

"Oh, that's Monsieur Rains! He's my friend!"

"He's no friend. He's a bad man, a very dangerous man. I knew him at St. Clair's. He made me do things, terrible things, to little children, some of them with various physical and mental disabilities, some may have been autistic, even to my own kin. And when I refused he . . . he abused me. He'd hit me over and over, shout horrible, hateful words in my ears, and I couldn't see him! I couldn't defend myself! And he wouldn't stop until I agreed!" There seemed to be a sob in his voice, as though he was close to tears.

"Well . . . that doesn't sound like the Monsieur Rains I know. Maybe he's changed."

"Beware him. Don't be taken over by his charm or wit. He's dangerous."

"I'll talk to him." He didn't sound like he'd be convinced, but this didn't sound right at all.

* * *

There was no denying it. He was getting hungry, the normal way. He also didn't realize how uncomfortable it was to be in a car for so long. So he pulled up to a cheesy diner.

"This is what I'm talkin' about!" his moronic passenger emoted. "A place like this, the worse food, the better!"

This kid was really getting on his nerves, so before he could get out, he said, "Luke, you really gotta stop trying to be my friend, or I'm going to have to kill you."

He expected the boy to laugh and call him "sick" again, and this time he would not get away with it. But instead the boy cautiously replied, "Do you like birds?"

The boy was looking beyond him, through the window. He looked out and saw a great black crow perched on a short pole, looking around and preening itself. "What?"

"Well, no, I'm just wondering if it's genetic because your dad is way into birding." The kid went on about the trips, and he only half-listened. He wanted to listen closer, but then he felt that buzz in his mind . . . when he was looking at the bird.

"I have you now," he whispered. He started rolling down the window.

"And now he's talking to birds," the boy muttered.

"Shh!" he ordered. He held up his finger and gave it a quick jerk, but there was a flash of green light, and the bird flew away. He quickly got out of the car, but all he could do was watch as the crow fly into the clouds.

"Whoa! Never saw a bird glow like that!"

"That wasn't really a bird. He's a shapeshifter. He's been following me."

"Then why don't you just–?" He made a cut sight around his neck.

"Because of that. He has a resistance to my power."

"Wow, that stinks. Is he a cop? 'Cause then, we're doomed."

"He's not a cop. He's just . . . annoying."

"Well . . . anyway, I'll tell you more about your dad when we get inside. I'm starvin'."

"Yeah." He looked up at the sky, but he couldn't even see the bird anymore. At least he knew what to look for now.

* * *

Harmony watched in amazement and delight as many puppets just like Pinocchio sang and danced and hit each other. They all had such funny voices. Hanami wished she knew more about how Strom-bully did it with all those puppets. Mommy laughed and clapped her hands. Then her phone made noises. She put the phone to her ear. "Oh, hi honey!" Then she said very quietly, "Excuse me," and walked a little way off.

Harmony went over to the puppets and looked closely at one that was very colorful and looked a lot like Pinocchio. "You like that one?" Strom-bully said.

Harmony's head went up and down.

"Here, you can have it." He gave it to her. She looked at it and at him. He got down on his knees. "You know, Pinocchia, I've been thinking a lot about you lately. I remember that song you sang when we were at Primatech. When I heard it, I felt . . . happy. I don't feel happy very often, not on my own. I usually have to make people make me feel happy. On the other hand, though, I see you kinda like an adversary because it's really bumming me out that there's someone I can't control. But I guess I'd rather it be someone like you who's not really a threat."

Suddenly, there were several men all dressed in black like shadows, and they all had metal tubes that make the loud sound. They yelled at Harmony and Strom-bully to get down on the floor. "Excellent. Two birds with one stone," one said.

"I don't think so," Strom-bully said. He held out his hand like he was holding strings. He made them all put their metal tubes on the ground and then walk out of the building. "Don't worry, Pinocchia, they won't bother us anymore."

"Sorry about that," Mommy said. "That was my husband. I'm afraid we're going to have to go pretty soon. Maybe one more show."

"OK," Harmony said.

"Yeah, alright, no problem, I'll just get set up," Strom-bully said.

But then, there was a strange smell in the air. It smelled about the way Mommy cooks some times. The air started to become cloudy and black, making Harmony cough, then it turned orange and yellow. And it got very, very hot.

"Fire! They set this place on fire!"

* * *

That evening, I bought a submarine sandwich and saved the other half of the foot long for Monsieur Rains. Once everybody on the FBI personnel left, I gave it to him. "So, is it true?" I asked him. "What Dr. Bishop said, is it true?"

"What do you think? The man's completely mental. After all, that's where he came from, the nut house," he answered.

"OK, what you're doing is evading the answer with an excuse. Dr. Lightman says people usually do that when they're hiding something."

"You calling me a liar?"

"No, I'm calling you someone who hasn't even told me the truth yet!

"Listen. It's the past. I don't like talking about the past!"

"Why, because you did bad things?"

Monsieur Rains groaned and hit his forehead with his hand. Finally, he sighed. "Yes."

"Oh, so you admit it?"

"But it's not because I was a bad man. You got to remember, I was under the employ of, among other things, two very powerful telepaths–Maury Parkman and Arthur Petrelli."

"The Leech? But he wasn't a . . . oh, wait, he was. He convinced my mother to fall in love with my papa."

"Well, isn't that nice. Anyway, on those days I refused to carry out orders, I often had very bad night terrors. They probably made me do things when I was asleep or in some sort of trance. I never had any memory of it."

"But how did he know you in St. Clair's? Were you institutionalized?"

He shook his head. "Walter Bishop was the distant cousin of another employer, Bob Bishop. He was proud of him, the brilliant Harvard grad, but then he had to accidently kill someone in a laboratory experiment and get committed. Rules of the house were that only family members were allowed permission to see the patients. We bent the rules a little. Bob built up Walter's hopes of reliving the glory days at the University, and we conducted many experiments there. I don't think he ever really understood what was going on. But like me, he got a conscience. He didn't like the experiments he was doing. There was a rumor going around that we had to bribe him to keep him working for us."

"Bribe him with what?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I was honestly trying to bury the hatchet with him last night. I had to tell him something."

"What's that?"

"It's a bit of a private matter, Gabriel."

"Oh," I nodded. So the next time I saw Dr. Bishop, I told him to try to hear Monsieur Rains out.

* * *

It was very, very hot, and there was loud noises like buzzing and bells. Harmony was so scared. She didn't know what to do. She hugged Pinocchio very tight.

Strom-bully came over and sat beside her. "Pinocchia, I can help you. I can get you out of here, out of the fire, past those guards. But you're gonna have to let me pull the strings, OK? No singing your song, no fighting it. I'm not going to hurt you, OK? You understand?"

Strom-bully hasn't been nice before, but he seemed nice now. Harmony nodded.

"OK, stay down." He lowered his hand, and Harmony felt herself press down to the floor. "Good. Now, crawl." Harmony felt her hands and knees move by themselves. "That's it. Good. Now, I'll show you were to go."

They crawled together to a door. Once she got outside, Harmony was able to stand up. She still had Pinocchio, and she hugged him tight. "I guess that's the only thing left," Mommy said later.

"Yeah," Strom-bully said.

"Are you sure you're OK with–?"

"Yes. I want you to have him. She'll put him to good use."

"What are you going to do?"

"I can manage." He smiled at Mommy and at Harmony. "Thanks for coming by."

"Thank you for taking such good care of my baby."

"No problem, ma'am."

Mommy strapped Harmony in the car. After a few minutes, she turned it on. The computer said, "Welcome! Buckle your seat belt!" Mommy pushed the screen a few times. The car started to move back, and then the computer said, "Recalculating. Estimated time of trip: 72 hours."

"What?!" Mommy pushed the screen over and over again, but nothing happened.

Then another funny voice spoke out of nowhere. It made Harmony a little scared because she didn't know where it was coming from. "Mrs. Miller, your GPS is not malfunctioning. Home is not a safe place for your daughter right now. Your GPS is now programmed to a location where she will be safe."

"Three days away?"

"Unfortunately, it is in Boston. The GPS is programmed on a long route, mostly on back roads, so that you will not be detected. If you keep stops at a minimum, this is the shortest time you will take. If you need to rest, press this button, and the car will take over."

"Really? Well, please call my husband. I need to tell him where we're going." Then there was a phone ringing, and Harmony heard Daddy's voice, and Mommy talked to him. She still didn't know where they were coming from.

* * *

Late in the night, he drove in silence. That stupid kid was finally quiet, but they were both a little shell-shocked at the happenings of that afternoon. The kid then had to interrupt this blissful quietness. "Thanks for coming back for me," the kid said.

He replied, "I didn't come back for you. I came back for this." He pointed to the tracking computer. "You just happened to be there. They tracked me twice in less than a week. I knew if I kept driving, it was only a matter of time before they caught up to me again. I needed to understand how they work."

"Still, you could have just left me."

He just turned on the radio, and it seemed like the most appropriate song came on.

"You know, I was thinking, that shapeshifter, you think he ratted us out?"

He wasn't sure how to answer. It was probably possible, but if he knew why Michael was here, "No."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know him. He thinks he's going to save my soul."

"Oh, I know those people. But I guess, that was who you were talking to at the rest stop?"

He thought about not answering, but it came out anyway. "Yeah."

"That's a relief. I was seriously starting to worry that you were losing your marbles."

He glanced over at the boy. "You're not bothered that I kill people, and yet when it looks like I'm talking to myself, you get worried?"

"Yeah, well . . ."

"You're a weird one, Luke."

"I guess I thought if you were crazy, I wouldn't be able to identify with you as much."

"Have you ever thought that maybe there's no such thing as 'crazy,' that maybe even the insane and the abnormal have some good in them?"

"Dude, that's deep."

"Maybe you should think about it a little more."

"Maybe I should." The boy slouched in his seat. "You know, it's too bad you can't kill that shapeshifter. If you're worried about being tracked, you could probably use his power to hide away."

"Yeah." He searched the horizon for crows. It was hard to see them in the dark. He didn't even want to admit it, and he would never tell this stupid boy, but just as he was fleeing, just before he thought about leaving the kid behind, he thought he saw a crow fly by his window. "He'll get his day . . . soon."

* * *

Dr. Bishop came in late that night and woke me up again. I hate to admit that I eavesdropped, but I could hear the conversation.

"It's about Bob. He's . . . dead. He was murdered. A sick-minded man sliced off the top of his head and removed his brain."

"Oh, that's terrible! Was he caught?"

"They know who did it, but no, he wasn't caught."

"What about his daughter, little, what was her name, Elle?"

"I saw a few months ago. She's not so little anymore. In fact, she's quite the _femme fatale_, I hear. What Bob always said about her's true. She's a fighter. She's fine."

"Thank goodness. Well, at least I know one thing–that chapter of my life is over. I never have to live it again." Then, I heard the door close.

To be continued . . .


	4. Searching for a Baseline

Chapter 4: Searching for a Baseline

Days went by. It never was easy hiding in the lab. It was very uncomfortable and cold. I missed class because I only left the lab to eat, and only when Peter or Agent Dunham went with me. I think our emotions were probably the worst part. We were all scared. I was worried every day about Papa. And Hanami, she always looked so sad. It broke my heart. She wouldn't tell me why, but I was sure it was because of her Uncle Hiro. And though Dr. Bishop's experiments were all fascinating, they were uncomfortable.

There wasn't really much to speak of, at least what I could talk about, until after Harmony came to us from out of nowhere. She wasn't very verbal either, so we don't know where she came from or how she got there. Our only clue was a puppet she carried around with her. It was shortly after she came that I saw the Nazi face to face.

I was at the cafeteria. Agent Dunham left me for one second, I forget why. Then I heard his cold voice. "Well, well, well, Quasimodo emerges from the bell tower."

It was the albino soldier standing over my table. He had a smirk on his face as he looked at me. I looked up at him with intimidation. "Who are you?"

"Call me Danko."

"Why are you here?"

"My partner has been playing nice with you, and it hasn't been very effective."

"I'm not coming with you. You might want to know an FBI agent is in this room, and if you try to take me–"

"I'm not here to take you. I'm just here with one piece of information to change your mind." He leaned down onto the counter so that he could look down on me, and he said, "We have your father."

"No! Papa!"

"That's right. We caught him just outside of Mayberry, but we just might release him if you turn yourself over as well as those in your custody."

"What are you doing to him?"

"That's for us to know and you to find out. I'll give you 24 hours to decide." And with that, he walked off.

I saw the hairless man in a booth adjacent to mine, and I mouthed to him, "Was he telling the truth?" I don't think he even noticed.

I played the scenario over and over again in my head. I flipped through all of Dr. Lightman's books, looking for some clue that could help me. One piece of advice he had was to look for a baseline. Have the person being interrogated answer simple questions that they will answer truthfully, such as what his/her name is or what color is the sky. Then when you ask the harder questions, if they display obvious changes in facial expressions, they were probably not being truthful. Well, the only simple question I asked him was his name, and he didn't even answer that directly. I don't think his expression ever changed.

I approached Wiki right as I came to the lab. "I need to talk to Rebel. Ask him if Michael Bonhomme is in the Nazis' custody!"

Wiki shook his head. "I don't know! I don't think so, but he is wanted!" That was all the explanation I got. I was just freaking out all day, worried about my Papa . . . until Peter pointed out that Mayberry was a fictional town from a television show.

Agent Dunham and I met Danko together and we told him that I refused to go with him because I discovered that he was lying. She did most of the talking, but at one point I yelled at him. "Why are you doing this? Why do you hate me?"

His answer chilled my bones. "'Cause you're not one of us. You're not normal. You don't belong."

That was just the beginning of my troubles.

* * *

"The agents still there?" he asked.

"No, I'm pretty sure you lost them. But just to be sure." That bratty passenger checked the RADAR. "Yeah, we're clear. Officially off the grid, no communication within 50 miles."

"You sound disappointed."

"Well, maybe I am. I mean, the way I see it, agent catch up to us we just," (he made an annoying explosion-like noise), "charbroil them from the inside out. So, what about your shape-shifting friend? Is he around?"

"Don't call him that."

"What?"

"I don't have any friends, and I don't want them."

"Dude, I was just being sarcastic."

"Even so."

"Well, is he following us?"

He sighed and looked around the horizon. "No, he's not here. Why, you wanna 'charbroil' him too?"

"No, I just wanted to make sure if the agents weren't following us that he wasn't either. And if you don't consider him your friend, why you get defensive at that thought?"

"Never mind! I told you, it's none of your business."

Then the kid started whining about how horrible parents are. He taught him a lesson about that. At that moment, though, he felt the tingle in his brain. He searched all around, and then something caught his eye. It wasn't a crow. It was a memory. He suddenly pulled over to an abandoned. The boy complained and asked if he felt the shapeshifter appear. He didn't answer. He didn't even want to acknowledge the boy was there, but the buzz in his brain never stopped the whole time.

* * *

Monsieur Broyles was not happy with me. "Another Pattern event occurred today, and we had to decline our investigation of it. Do you know why, Bonhomme?"

"Why?"

"Because our research lab was used for other purposes! I have told you, once you reveal this location to anyone–"

"Please don't fire me! Most of these people aren't verbal, or their verbal skills are very limited. They could never relate to anyone what goes on here!"

"That doesn't matter!"

"But I didn't invite them here! They were sent to me. Someone named Rebel's been sending them to me. Do you have any clue who he is?"

Broyles just crossed his arms. "Here's a better question: how does he know where you are?"

"I told you. He's been spying on us through the electronics!" Monsieur Broyles just looked more impatient. "Alright, it doesn't matter. I know how to communicate with Rebel, and I will tell him to stop."

"You better, because if one more person, autistic or not, just shows up out of nowhere and this Rebel is responsible, you're out of here."

This sounded very serious, so I rehearsed over and over again what I was going to say. I thought about contacting him through Wiki again, but eventually I decided this was so serious, I needed to say it to his face.

* * *

Hanami felt sad, and she didn't completely understand why because all of her friends were around her. Some of the new people scared her, like the doctor, but the woman with the black, curly hair and the woman with the long, yellow hair were nice. But there was someone there who wasn't her friend anymore. Every time she saw him, it made her feel sad.

Sometimes when she woke up, she had a black blanket on top of her that wasn't there when she went to sleep. That made her feel a little happy, though she didn't know who gave it to her.

* * *

In the morning, I saw him again, sitting alone in a booth, staring at me. "Excuse me," I told Peter, "I going to talk to Rebel."

I rose and nervously approached him, turning over in my head again what I was going to say, but almost before I could open my mouth, he said along with me, "This has got to stop!"

I was a little stunned for a moment, but then I remembered when people usually say the same thing you're saying at the same time, it was a form of mockery. So I got angry. And even though he continued to speak at the same time with him, I continued to talk. "Don't you understand what you're doing? I want to help, I do, but you are putting my job and my whole future at stake! I cannot allow you to bring anymore people to me. Please, why won't you end this? Why me?"

There was a moment of silence as I waited for his answer, but he only stared. And then he said, "Do you miss your mother?"

It was the most unexpected, unrelated question that could have ever been asked. It was completely ridiculous! I don't know why I answered, but I said, "No." I regretted saying that, so I timidly added, "I-I-I know that sounds terribly cruel, but . . . how can you miss someone you've never known?"

He blinked and cocked his head questioningly. Then he said, "Your life is hard and complicated. It is going to become harder and more complicated soon. I would offer you advice, but I am not supposed to get involved." Then, he stood and began to walk away. But then he turned and said, "I am not Rebel."

"Then who is?" I called after him, but he never turned back.

So I returned to the booth. Peter gave me an astonished look. "Looks like you just met the Observer."

* * *

"Look, the guy's a jerk, plain and simple!" the kid yelled at him. "I told you parents su–"

That was it. He threw a chair at him and whispered, "He killed my mother."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," that dumb kid replied sympathetically. But he had enough from this kid. He pressed him against, but even then the idiot proposed taking their trip up to Canada. He just didn't get it. So, he pushed harder.

"You used me for some joyride, an escape. I got news for you, kid, there is no escape. There is only pain! And you can never outrun it no matter what you do, no matter where you go!" And just to show his uninvited guest that he can be merciful, he let the boy fall. "Go home to your mother, Luke."

"You're not gonna kill me?"

"Seems a little on the nose." He turned away.

"Wait, where are you going?"

This kid just doesn't have a clue! He turned back and said, "To find my father, because now that I've seen the truth, I want him to die."

As he walked out, he made sure that the tingle was still there, and it was. So he turned around and said to nothing, "I know you're here. I don't know what form you're taking, but I know you're here. I know you've heard every word spoken here. Now, you know too. Everything I said to that boy, I'd say to your face if I could. Even if you did show yourself, if you materialized right here and now, it wouldn't make a bit of difference. You can't stop me. You can't change me! So just leave me alone! Do you hear me, Michael? LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAVE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ALOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!"

He fell to his knees, his fists clenched. And then, that annoying buzz, that tingle, was gone. He got up and looked around, but he didn't see anyone. Michael really did leave him alone.

* * *

The doctor put a strange hat on Hanami's head that made her itch and told her not to take it off. Then Gabriel came in with the lady with yellow hair and talked to him, and they all left very quick. That's when the person that made Hanami sad came to her. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Hanami looked down. "You don't like me anymore," she said in her head.

"Ah, come now, love. Where'd you get an idea like that?"

"I never see you."

"Nobody does," he laughed. "I'm invisible, remember?"

"But I don't dream about you either. You used to come whenever I dreamed. When I dreamed you, you dreamed me, and we played hide and seek, and you read me stories. And Uncle Hiro would come and tell me about Princess Yaeko and Takeiso Kensei. So would Mr. Petrelli. But they don't come anymore, no matter how hard I think about any of them. They don't like me anymore."

Mr. Rains sighed. "Stories?" he whispered. "I don't know any stories."

"You see?"

"Oh, I don't think it means that," he said louder. "It probably means you're growing up."

"Growing up?"

"Yeah. See, when you're a wee one, your imagination is very strong. You have a lot of dreams imaginary friends and go to Never-Never Land and all that. But when you get old, like me, your imaginations . . . fades. Then you start seeing the real world, which is nothing like the world in your dreams, and Never-Never Lands keeps disappearing. And then when you want to go back, you can't."

"I don't want that to happen! I don't want to grow up!"

"Well, nobody wants to, but it happens. Look, you were 6 when I met you, right? That was three years ago. So you have to be at least 8, probably 9."

"9 ½."

"See? You're almost a decade old. Your teenage years are right on your heels. You're not the same girl you were when I met you."

"But I like my imagination. That's where my magic is."

"Oh, your magic will always be there. It may show itself in a new way. And I guess it doesn't always happen. There are some grown ups that never lose their imaginations."

"Like who?"

"Well, poets, authors, directors, television writers, that doctor who was just here–his imagination's fantastic."

"He scares me."

"Yeah, he is a bit, isn't he? The point is, there could still be hope for you. Maybe you just need to keep trying."

"OK, I will."

* * *

"I want to show you something," Agent Dunham said. She pulled up a number of photos on her computer, all of which had crowds. She zoomed in on every picture to one man who had absolutely no hair.

"The same man?" I asked.

"Just like the one you saw."

"Are you sure it's not some kind of cult or secret order of men who shave off all their hair and . . .?"

"Well, there is more than one," Peter answered. "We found that out not too long ago. Still, these guys have a tendency to show up before some major events, most of which related to the Pattern."

"So why didn't you tell us that you've been seeing him?" Agent Dunham asked.

"I never thought much about it, I guess. He did give me the heeby-jeebies, and I may have entertained the thought that he could do . . . unusual things, but I always thought that he was . . ." I didn't want to say "normal" because I hate that word, but I couldn't think of another way to put it.

Dr. Bishop patted my arm. "I'm sure he meant you no harm, George."

"Gabe!"

"We call him the Observer because all he does is observe, as far as we can tell," Agent Dunham explained. "But the mere fact that he's here and he's singled you out means something big is coming, and you're going to be involved."

"He told me my life is about to get harder and more complicated. So he really meant that?"

"He wouldn't have said it if it were not so," Dr. Bishop said.

"What does that mean? They can't lie?"

"It means they don't really talk much at all," Peter said. "So if they say anything, it's usually important."

"He asked me if I missed my mother. What does that mean?"

They just stared at me for a moment.

"My mother is dead! I've never known her. I don't even remember her. What is he saying?"

"We're really the wrong people to ask," Agent Dunham answered. "There's very little we know about him."

"Then what should I do, ask him?"

"Good luck," Peter answered.

"I don't know if that will do any good. I was completely wrong about the Rebel thing."

"Never mind that," Dr. Bishop said. "You'll find him, all in due time."

* * *

That night, as Hanami was trying to go to sleep, she thought very hard about her Uncle Hiro. Usually at the first thought, he'd appear right beside her, but he didn't. And she thought about Mr. Petrelli and Mr. Rains, but they didn't come either. She was so sad. She tried to think of anyone else that she could imagine. She thought very, very hard.

And then, she saw a shape standing next to her. She dreamed someone here. But when he took form, it was the man she saw when she first came here, the man with the funny hat and no hair. A stranger! So Hanami sat up and cried.

"Why are you crying?" the man asked.

"Because I'm growing up! I'm losing my imaginations! I'm losing my magic!"

"No," he said softly. He got down low. "No, Hanami."

Hanami stopped crying and looked at him. "How do you know my name?"

"Your imagination is still very strong, and your powers blaze within your heart. Do you know how I know this?"

"Uh-uhh," Hanami shook her head.

"Because you dreamed me here, and I do not dream."

"You don't?"

"I have no imagination. I only know what I see."

"Who are you?"

"Call me July."

"Mr. July, is this what is going to happen?"

"Not to you. Do not be afraid, Hanami." He looked over toward the tank. "Gabriel is going to learn the truth about his mother very soon. It will not be easy. He is going to need your help. You will help him, will you Hanami?"

"_Hai_, of course."

"Very good. Tell no one you have seen me. To you, I am just a dream. Understood?"

Hanami nodded, and the man disappeared. Hanami was about to lie back down when she heard a noise. She turned around and saw herself still lying on the floor. Mr. Rains walked over to her, got down low, and put the black blanket around her. "There you go, nice and warm," he said softly. Then he got down to her face, kissed her head, and whispered, "Stay innocent, love. Never grow up."

That made Hanami happy. Mr. Rains didn't like her anymore. He loved her.

* * *

His mind was still fuming after the very unproductive visit with his father. He felt angry, disappointed, and maybe just a little sad. One thing above all, though, was that he didn't want to be bothered. But then, he felt that buzz in his brain. He knew he was not alone.

He did just as he always had done, looked around at the trees, the birds, the animals, and everything, trying to get his extra sense to give him some clue, but it didn't. He thought about screaming again, "Leave me alone!" but what good would that do? He won't leave him alone. He never will.

It made him think about someone else who refused to leave him alone, and he had an idea. Maybe this was the only way to get him to show his face. He sat down against a tree and reached into his back pocket. It was still there, his gift. Sometimes he wished he threw it away, but it was always there, sorta like that song about the cat who wouldn't leave a guy alone. Sorta like . . .

He opened the Bible to his favorite passage. The words didn't look familiar. "What version is this?" he wondered. He turned back to the title page. "King James? Doesn't look like it." Then he remembered. Of course, this must be in French. He forgotten he had that ability.

So he turned back and he read aloud, "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to Heaven, You are there. If I make my bed in the grave, behold, You are there. If I fly on the wings of the morning, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Your hand will lead me and Your right hand will . . . will . . . grab me. If I say, 'Surely the darkness will overwhelm me and the light around me will be night,' even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You."

The sadness that was in him suddenly grew as he read these words, and without really understanding why, he started to weep. It started as a few sobs, just to get the tears out of his eyes blurring his vision, but then he was bawling like a baby. He dropped the Bible as he lifted his hands to dry his eyes. He curled up in a ball and continued to cry, just relieved that Peter or Bennet or nobody else but the Person he was reading about could see him.

But he forgot, he wasn't alone. Suddenly, he was there standing over him. His picked up his Bible and read aloud, "For You did form my insides. You did weave me in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."

And Michael looked at me.

To be continued . . .


	5. Agape

Chapter 5: Agape

He must have cried himself to sleep because he didn't remember much after that. The next thing he remembered, he was indoors. He didn't recognize the place.

"You're awake," Michael said. "I hope you are feeling better, Gabriel." Michael picked up the taxidermy rabbit and handed it to him. "It's a good thing my wife Ruth didn't see this. She loved rabbits and couldn't bare to see them hurt. This would have broken her heart."

"How did you–?"

"I carried you."

"No way you're strong enough."

"I transformed into something that was. That's how I saved you from the burning building a few months ago. I imagined myself stronger and with fireproof arms."

"That's quite an ability you have."

"Thank you." He handed him a hot bowl. "Oatmeal? I'm sorry it's not the greatest breakfast, but it's the best I could put together here."

He took the bowl and started eating, though he wasn't all that hungry. "Why didn't you come when I called for you all those times?"

"You weren't ready."

But he detected fear in the old man's voice. "I see. You didn't want to see me when I was mad. You're afraid of me."

"No."

That was surprising. "You're afraid of what I can do."

"No."

No buzz. He was telling the truth. "Why not?"

"I do not fear he who can kill the body. I fear the one who is able to destroy body and soul. That's from Matthew 10:28."

"You really did leave me alone when I asked you to."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Michael smiled a little. "Someone had to take care of that boy. I wasn't going to let him prey on innocent Canadians. That would have ruined everything. Besides, you were right. What happened between you and your father is your business."

"And you weren't afraid when I said I was going to kill him."

He didn't answer right away. Then he looked at him with some concern. "Did you?"

"No, no need. He was dying. Cancer."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. The kid was right. He was a jerk."

The man shook his head sadly.

"Why are you doing this?" Doesn't he realize this was a waste of time?

"I cannot tell you, Gabriel. At least, not in English. The language is too limiting."

"Then you're going to tell me in French?"

"No, French isn't much better. The only language I know that has a suitable word is Greek."

"Look, it doesn't matter what language you say it in! I have your son's ability, remember?"

"That's right. I'm still not sure if you'll understand. The word is _agape._"

He rolled his eyes. "Love."

"Not just love. English only has one word to describe several types of love. This kind is selfless love. Sacrificial love. Irrational love. Sometimes love for one's enemies. And it's not romantic. It's caring for someone's welfare very deeply, as though you were caring for your own self." He sighed. "Maybe I am a little afraid, but it's because this is the hardest thing I've ever done. It's the hardest thing anyone ever could do, but it's particularly hard for me for more than one reason."

"Then why do it?"

"Because I think you're worth it, Gabriel. I believe you can become more than what you are." He sat down across from him. "So why don't you tell me what happened between you and your father? You don't have to, but I think it would do you some good to talk about it. But it's up to you."

He swallowed another bite of oatmeal and took a deep breath.

* * *

Imagine my surprise when I learned the whole Rebel wasn't as complicated as I thought it was. It started as I was coming from the cafeteria with Agent Dunham. There was a huge group walking down the sidewalk. I knew what this was–prospective students and parents considering college taking a tour of the Harvard campus. This always annoyed me because there was always so many of them heading in my direction. It was like going against the current. But as I watched them pass, I saw one member of the group who looked significantly younger than the rest lagging behind. And as I looked closer, I noticed he looked very familiar. I started walking toward the group.

"What is it, Gabe?" Agent Dunham asked.

"I thought I saw someone I knew. No, it couldn't be."

But then, he looked toward me and smiled.

"Maybe it is."

Agent Dunham laughed as she looked where I was looking. "He looks like a young Lionel Richie."

"Who's that?"

Then the boy started walking toward us. As he came closer, he looked more and more familiar. He finally stood in front of me and said, "Hey, Gabe!"

"Micah?"

"Yeah."

I laughed and hugged him. "My goodness, you've grown!"

"Uh, yeah. It's been a while since I've seen you. Or heard from you."

"Right. I've been very busy. It's been a long time since I've been on the message boards."

"Oh, I understand. I've been pretty busy myself."

"How's your mother and father?"

His smile faded. "Dead."

"Oh, Micah, I'm so sorry."

"It's OK. They died heroes. I'm living alright with my aunt in New Orleans."

"And now you're thinking about coming to Harvard?"

"Well, maybe someday. I'm preparing for the future."

Agent Dunham cleared her throat.

"Oh!" I gestured to her. "_Je suis desole. _This is Mademoiselle Olivia Dunham. She's . . . my boss. One of them. Mademoiselle Dunham, this is Micah, one of my best friends on the internet"

He extended his hand to her. "Please to meet you, Agent Dunham."

I put my hand to my mouth. I was sure I didn't say anything, but she looked as confused as I did. "How did you know?" she whispered.

"Uh, I saw your badge . . . flash inside your coat there."

She checked and showed me she was wearing it on a chain.

"So, you want to show me around? I'd really rather a friend show me the campus than those guys."

"_Oui!_ _On y va!" _(Let's go!)

* * *

We spent most of the day on a hill looking up at the clouds. Michael spent most of the time talking or reading the Bible. He just lay on his back, the taxidermy rabbit under his neck like a pillow. He listened, half-heartedly. Occasionally, he asked a few asinine questions like what he thought God thought of this crisis and where would God be if there were a Martian invasion. Michael always had an answer. He had to admit, some of it did sink in. Just for a little bit.

Late in the day, though, something snapped. Michael said something like, "Wouldn't it be something, Gabriel, if you were saved? I don't think anyone would believe it until they saw you flying away on the Last Day." It was hard to say what it was, but he suddenly jumped up and used his electricity powers to set the trees around them ablaze.

"There's one thing my father said that I agree with. I gotta kill! It's who I am! It's the way I was made! You can't change me! You're a fool for even trying! What are you going to do to make me believe, crucify me?"

"Gabriel, please listen."

"No, I'm done listening! You say you're not afraid of me, but you're small game. You're the smallest game of all! It's time you realize it!" And he pointed at Michael's forehead . . .

. . . and nothing happened.

"Quit resisting."

"I'm not."

He was telling the truth. His guard was completely down, and he wasn't even trying to pull it back up. Then he began to realize that Michael wasn't the one resisting. I was. Because the sad truth was that Michael was the kind of man I always hope my father would be. He had answers. He had kindness. He had _agape. _And that got to me. I fell to my knees.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I forgive you."

"I know what I must do now."

"Let's go to the river."

"No. In the morning."

"Why delay, Gabriel?"

"I just need some time. Let me sleep on it."

"Very well. It's your decision."

But in the morning, he was gone.

* * *

I had a great time giving Micah a tour of Harvard. It was a lot of walking, and though it took most of the day, I barely showed him half of the campus. My feet were so sore, but it was worth it to show my good friend what I knew and to talk to him and see him smile, laugh, and ask me questions. Of course, Agent Dunham went with us everywhere we went. She told us that we showed her parts of campus she didn't even know, but I doubted she was ever a student here.

Then suddenly, her cellphone started beeping. She picked it up. "Oh. It's Broyles. I'm sorry, I gotta go."

"Um, OK," I said uncertainly. "Is Peter available? Astrid? Because Broyles knows we can't go anywhere without an escort."

Oddly enough, Micah spoke up. "It's OK. We'll be fine."

I looked at him. "No, Micah, it's not OK. There's . . ." I whispered at him, "there's people hunting us. Once we're not protected, they'll get us."

But he looked at Agent Dunham again. "We'll be OK. I know kung fu."

She nodded. "Alright, if you're sure. Call me if you need me." Then, she left.

"Micah," I said, "I don't think you know how important it was that she was with us."

"Oh, I know," he said in a serious tone he never had before. "So, why don't you show me the lab?"

"Which lab? There's a really good computer lab in the library, and we're just about to visit the science building."

"You know which one. THE lab. The one where you work."

"Oh. I'm afraid I can't do that, Micah. It's classified."

"Gabe," he said as walked in front of me, "I need to fess up about something. I didn't come here to tour the campus. I came here to hide out in your lab."

I felt the color drain out of my face. I sat down on the nearest bench.

"My plan was to make a run for it, but . . . that didn't really work out. This was the only other option I had."

I looked over at him. "Did someone named Rebel send you?"

"Gabe, I'm Rebel."

I couldn't believe it. "You?" I gasped.

"Yeah, me."

"But, no, it can't be! I trusted you!"

"And there's no reason not to. I'm on your side, Gabe."

"You're a hacker!"

"No, I'm not. Gabe, you know me better than that. You remember, I told you. Machines are very cooperative if you ask them nicely. I'm not a hacker. I'm their friend."

"So you used that connection to spy on me?"

"And to communicate with your friend. Pretty neat having a brain permanently connected to Wikipedia. I found him through that article about Senator Nathan Petrelli. And also, of course, to send the agent away so that we can have this conversation."

"Micah . . . " I found this very hard to say to a friend, "I can't let you stay here, and you cannot do this anymore."

"Why not?"

"Agent Broyles, who is Agent Dunham's boss, has told me many times, if I make one more leak, he's going to fire me and extradite me back to France. He's been very unhappy that all these people have come. He's allowed it because I explained the situation to him, but he's been threatening to take away my job if one more person comes in. I really do want to help, but I'll lose everything I've worked so hard for, my job, my future."

Micah scoffed. "That's it?"

I couldn't believe that response. "Well, that's big! You know how long I've wanted this. This is putting me on the path to the Nobel. I can't afford to lose this."

"Listen to yourself, Gabe. You're just worried about losing your job. Think about other people in this situation. First century Christians. Abolitionists. Miep Gies."

"Who?"

"She hid Anne Frank's family from the Nazis! They risked their lives to hide people facing the worst kind of oppression! You like talking about eugenics? They fought eugenics! Holocausts! Exterminations! They put everything on the line, and many of them did lose their lives or the lives of the people they protected, but they all helped win the war! They together ended the eugenics of their era. But you, you're worried about your job!"

I was stunned when he said that. I never thought of it that way. "You're right. I'm selfish, but . . . I still don't know."

"It's not that I haven't been sensitive to your situation. That's why I've been sending primarily autistic people to you. Most of the NTs I send to Claire."

"Claire?"

"Yeah, she has, well had, a free pass because she's Senator Petrelli's daughter."

"I thought she was the spy's daughter."

"She was adopted."

"And I thought she was dead!"

"I told you they weren't!"

"Well, you weren't specific. I thought you meant Monsieur Rains and Thomas."

"There were no casualties by that flight. Everyone escaped."

"Then someone lied to me. Again."

Micah shook his head. "This shouldn't be happening to us. You always like to say that there's no such thing as normal, and you're right. Don't you remember Chandra Suresh? This is evolution. We're evolved. We're going to be the norm one day. We shouldn't be hunted."

"Yes, that is true. I had forgotten."

"I think it's time, Gabe, that you liberate your liberty. If it's not beyond me, it's not beyond you. You can be more than you are. Don't question your ability. Don't let your fear of these people or of your bosses rule you. Do what is right. Protect your own. Your own future is secondary to them."

I thought for a long time. He was entirely correct. I had to do the right thing. Still, Broyles would never allow Micah into the lab. What can I do? I had to try to see things from another perspective, try to be empathetic. Wait, that's it!

"I need you to do something for me," I said aloud.

"Sure. What is it?"

"I need you to find my father. You told me the other day that he wasn't in their custody. I've been worried ever since this started about him. I don't know where he is or what he's doing, but he can be captured any minute."

"He's a shape-shifter, right?"

"It's more than that. He can change into anything and change anything into what he wants. Oh, but Micah, you can't just text him or spy on him through the electronics. He told me before he left that he was going without his cellphone and television. He wants to be cut off from the world."

"Then how can I find him?"

I handed him a picture. "Just try looking for him wherever he is. And if that doesn't work, look for Sylar. I strongly believe that Papa took this pilgrimage to seek him out. I'm sure if no one else knows where Papa is, Sylar will know."

"Alright, I'll find him, and I'll bring him back to you, even if I have to go into Building 26 to get him."

"Building 26?"

"The belly of the beast. I'll update you on my progress through your friend."

"_Merci beaucoup_ (thank you very much), Micah."

"No problem." And he left. Some people might say that was that, but it didn't feel like it.

At the first chance I got, I went to Agent Broyles's office. "I know you said you'd fire me if one more person comes in to stay at the lab. One more person is coming sometime soon–my papa. I sent someone to look for him. And I don't care if once he comes you fire me, send me back to Paris, send me to prison, or put me in the hands of those Nazis. I'm not afraid of that anymore. I just want Papa safe."

Agent Broyles sighed and rubbed his head with his hands. "Bonhomme . . . I'm not going to fire you over your father. You may be surprised to know that I'm a father, and I know what it's like. I got in this business to protect my family from this strange world. So I understand why you want him safe."

"It's that easy? But my father is very verbal. It's a security breach."

"We have brought civilians into the lab in the past when it was necessary. Maybe I've been too hard on you on this."

I was very surprised to hear him say this. We talked more, and I felt like I had a inch more of breathing room. So, I was grateful to Micah for restoring my confidences so this could happen.

* * *

There was a knock on the door. "It's open!" a voice shouted from within. The visitor went inside. Samson Gray did not even look at him but yelled, "The order's not ready yet."

"Meals on wheels, sir."

Then he turned around. "Found me out here, did you? Just won't take no for an answer." (He coughed several times.) "I told you, I don't want your cheap, frozen charity!"

"It's not like that, sir. It's homemade hunter's stew, from a recipe that's been in my family for several generations. Along with vegetables and spices, it contains venison, wild quail, and . . . rabbit meat. And it's piping hot, good for a cold night. It will help with your cough. I thought since you are a man of game, you might enjoy it." The visitor unscrewed the thermos.

"Well . . . " (he coughed), "it does smell good. Fine, since you went through so much trouble."

The visitor poured the soup into a bowl and gave him a spoon.

"But just to let you know up front, I'm not interested in your prayers or any other Christian junk."

"If that is how you feel, sir," he nodded, "but is there anything you would need me to do?" He looked around the very neglected house.

"No, nothing comes to mind."

"Sir, I'm here on behalf of your son."

"My son? The one who was just here?"

"Yes, Gabriel. I know your son. He's done bad things, but he's a good man. I'm not even sure that he knows it yet. He would not accept my _agape_, so I am extending it to you. I'm willing to do anything to help you, free of charge."

"Man, no one from Meals on Wheels has offered me that." He coughed again. "Alright, if it's for Gabriel, I can think of a few things."

So for the next several days, Michael never left. He did all sorts of household chores, fixed Samson meals, and occasionally helped him with his taxidermy. Sometimes they had provoking conversations.

Then one evening, there was another knock on the door. "I'll get it," Michael offered. He went up and opened the door.

"Papa!"

"Son?" Michael hastily threw his arms around the young man's chest. "How did you find me out here? What is . . .?" But as he spoke, he felt the boy grow, change in his arms. He pulled away and saw a completely different Gabriel there.

"Hello, Michael."

"Gabriel."

"Why so stunned? This is actually good news for you. It means there's nothing you have that I need."

"You killed again, didn't you? You haven't repented at all."

"I told you, killing's my nature. You can't change me. Now, stay away from my father. You're getting in the way of my revenge."

"I'm overcoming evil with good. My revenge is better."

He pointed at Michael, but he just couldn't do it. So he put his finger down and said, "Fine. But don't be surprised if you get some more visitors here soon, and it won't be me or your son, and they won't be here to chat."

"Who do you mean?"

"You're getting sloppy, Michael. The people who have been hunting for people with abilities? They know you're here now. And even though I'm working for them, I won't stop them from coming." He gave an evil smile and walked out.

Michael ran back inside and put his hands on the wall. "Hey! What are you doing?" Samson asked him.

"Something I've never done before," he answered. "I'm changing everything." He concentrated very, very hard. The air seemed to shake around him. Then, he let go.

"Changing everything?" Samson scoffed. "But everything looks the same."

Michael turned around and ran outside. As he ran, he changed into a squirrel. When he went out the door, it did not look like he went out a door. He looked up and saw that he was successful.

On the outside, the trailer was no longer a trailer. It was a big oak tree.

* * *

I felt more uneasy after Micah's visit. Some of the thoughts he shared with me made me more angry and confused about everything. I kept asking the questions of all my friends of why we were being hunted. Nobody had any good answers. Dr. Bishop just tried to assure me that in time they will understand, once we all evolve. His son told me that he seriously doubted this was evolution at all but was some strange thing with the Pattern. Monsieur Rains seemed to ignore me complete but absentmindedly, softly sang the Beatles' "Revolution." Everybody else just said they didn't know.

It took some time, but I did eventually reach an epiphany. Oddly enough, it was an epiphany that didn't exactly answer my questions, but it was one nonetheless. It started late one night. There was a knock on the door. I ignored it until Astrid confronted me. "Hey, Gabe, the guy at the door is asking for you. He's kinda a tall guy with horned-rimmed glasses. You know him?"

I glared and nodded.

"Oh. Should I tell him to go?"

I sighed. "No, I'll talk to him." I got up and looked at the spy through the crack in the door. "So, are you here to send me to Auschwitz?"

"Gabriel, I'm not a Nazi, and I'm not here to send you to Auschwitz," he answered, aggravated.

"You're right. You're a caring, merciful individual. You won't allow me a slow, agonizing death because that's beneath you. So, why don't you just kill me now?"

"Gabriel–!"

"And don't call me Gabriel! For goodness sakes, you of all people would know how much I detest that name!"

"Funny, it wasn't long ago that you refused to go by anything else."

"_Ferme la bouche!"_ (Shut your mouth.)

The spy shot me an offended look and crossed his arms.

"Look, why are you here?"

"It just so happens that your great aunt sent me. She wanted me to pick you up. The rest of the Petrellis are meeting at a place in the west called Coyote Sands. Now, something terrible happened there. I don't know what, and for some reason, she wants us to know the truth about it."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I've been asking that question. I'm not technically part of the Petrelli family, but you are their flesh and blood."

"Do I want to be associated with the same family as Hitler?"

"Don't jump to conclusions about Nathan. He's just doing what he thinks is best."

"Hitler thought he was doing what was best for Germany!"

"Nathan is not Hitler!" He sighed and rubbed his neck. "One other thing Angela wanted me to tell you. She wants you to come with her to find your grandmother."

"Well, we won't. She's dead. She and _Grand-pere_ died shortly after we heard that Papa was dead."

"That was probably your paternal grandmother. I assume Angela is referring to you _maternal_ grandmother. Your mother's mother, and probably Angela's sister."

"My mother's mother?" I shook my head in doubt. "I never met her before." I turned away to think about it. "There's so much about my mother that I don't know."

"Well, this could be your chance to learn more about her. You'd be reaching a part of your family tree you didn't even know existed."

I nodded. "You're right. Wait." I turned around. "How do I know this is not a trick? This lab is the only place I know I am safe from neo-eugenics. Once I step outside–"

"You're not going to be captured. I'll protect you. I'm a spy, remember?"

I stepped out. "I just need to tell Agent Broyles where I'm going."

"Oh, I already spoke to him."

I looked at him suspiciously. "Did you really?"

"You have my word."

I watched him closely, but I didn't see any gestures or expressions that suggested he was lying. "Very well. _On y va._"

To be continued . . .


	6. Forgotten Sisters

Chapter 6: Forgotten Sisters

It was very dark when we pulled up. I slept in the car, and the spy nudged me awake. "We're here."

As soon as I got out, I was presented with a shovel from my Great Aunt Angela, "Gabriel, join in the digging," she told me. I gave the spy a look. Manual labor was not what I wanted, though I probably should have expected it. Coyote Sands did look a lot like a concentration camp.

It took me a lot of effort to push in the spade and bring up dirt. Through it all, I kept looking up at a man with dark hair and dark clothes, standing next to me digging and coming along a lot faster. After a while, he looked up. "Why do you keep staring at me like that, Gabriel?"

"I thought you were dead, Peter," I answered.

He sighed, shook his head, and went back to digging.

"I heard about that plane that crashed and exploded. I was told that you were on it."

"I was on it, but I got out before it exploded."

"How?"

Peter stopped digging and just looked at me. "I'd rather not talk about that right now."

"What about the others I heard were on it? Hiro? Matt Parkman? Mohinder? Claire?"

"Claire's over there," Peter answered pointing. "Everybody's alive."

"So, Broyles did lie to me. You know, you could have sent me a text message or something to let me know–"

"Well, we were kinda busy running for our lives! Besides, I thought you knew."

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you Rebel?"

"No."

"I wondered at times. It didn't seem like your style. So, you've been at Harvard?"

"_Oui, _I have a job there working for the government. I have amnesty for aiding them in a covert project. Since I heard about the plane, I have been taking everyone else I know who has powers into my protection."

"So, you're like a refugee?"

"I suppose I am."

"Well, I'm glad. I'm glad you're not involved in this mess."

"You know, when this all settles down, I'm going to change everything. It'll all be better."

Peter scoffed. "Good luck. Of course, the question is, 'Will it ever settle down?'"

I tried to push the shovel into the dirt again, but the shovel fell down and hit my foot. "Aah!" I cried out.

"Having a little trouble?"

"Yes. It seems every time I try to dig myself out of holes, I wind up deeper under the ground."

"Don't I know the feeling."

"What are we looking for here anyway, some lost pirate treasure? Or are we digging just to dig?"

"Oh, you don't know?"

I looked up. "Know what?"

"Come here." I put down my shovel, walked behind Peter, and gasped. Peter just pointed into the hole and said very quietly, "This is what we're digging."

In his hole was a full human skeleton.

* * *

He had a strange dream. It was spring time. The weather was perfect and warm. He could feel the breeze on his face. And he saw this woman in the distance in a white dress. She was carrying something in her hand, and she kept bending over and picking something up. She stood at a distance, so he couldn't tell exactly who she was what she was doing. So he came closer. As he got a better look at her, he didn't recognize her at all. He could see that in her hand was a white basket, and all around her were brightly colored Easter eggs. He smiled as she enjoyed this playful activity, but as he came closer, the base of the basket gave way. All of the eggs fell on the ground and covered her feet in yoke. The woman just dropped her basket and gasped, putting both her hands on her mouth.

"Had all your eggs in one basket, huh?" he said.

She looked up at him as though she was seeing him for the first time. Then she slowly walked toward him, picked up one sky blue egg on the ground, and handed it to him. She said nothing, but her eyes begged him to take it. He reached for it–

–and he woke up. But instantly, he didn't feel right. He didn't feel himself. He went up to the mirror and confirmed that he wasn't himself. "Why does this keep happening?" he whispered. Then, he used his newfound ability to become himself again, but something still didn't feel right. Something in his mouth still felt out of place. He started reaching back, but then he saw a white hand embrace his arm. He looked in the mirror and saw the same woman from his dream holding his arm and looking at him with those same sad eyes. He turned around, and she wasn't there anymore. He couldn't see her in the mirror's reflection when he turned back. He went back to pulling out an extra tooth, and then he said aloud, "Who are you?"

* * *

As the morning came, everyone became more solemn. The only sound was the scratch of the dirt by shovels. Even if the graves were shallow, though, I never uncovered any remains. All I got was very sore muscles. I was very frustrated, but given the seriousness of the occasion, I carried my frustration in silence. I only wondered what this had to do with finding my grandmother. Was she dead?

The only one who wasn't digging was Great Aunt Angela Petrelli. She was standing by the cabins and staring off into the distance. I overheard Nathan tell Peter not to bother her, saying, "She'll share when she's ready," but I wasn't ready to trust him. Every time we made eye contact, I just glared at him. Deep inside, though, I thought maybe I should be gentler to Nathan. Now that I knew Peter is alive, it made me think maybe things weren't as bad as I thought.

Still, I saw no point in this. Eventually, I threw down his shovel and started walking to Great Aunt Angela, but then I saw Peter going toward her. Since he was her son, I let him talk to her first. I stayed far enough so that I could hear what they were saying, by a broken swing set. "What are we doing here, Mom?" Peter said. "You said we came here to find your sister. We didn't know you had a sister!"

"_Qu'est-que c'est?!" _I said louder than he meant to. Peter glowered at me for a moment, and I shut my mouth.

"Look, we need some answers. Mom, what happened out here?"

Great Aunt Angela looked away. She spoke very softly, and I could only hear a few things of what she said. "It was so long ago . . . almost fifty years . . . we were only children . . . Dr. Suresh . . . help, it seemed . . . she should have brought clothes . . . socks . . ."

"_Les chaussettes?_" I repeated. What a strange thing to mention!

"Mom?" Peter said softly but firmly.

She turned around to him and said something much louder and more clearly, something I could not believe. "My sister, my parents, they all died here. And if we don't come together, if we don't settle our differences, I'm afraid history is going to repeat itself."

Peter nodded and looked silently at his mother. I just stared at her, my heart feeling like it was hanging outside my chest. Then she said with a voice of resolution, "Call the others to that cabin over there. It's time we had a talk." Peter nodded and walked away.

"I don't understand," I said as he followed my great aunt to the cabin. "Am I . . .wait a minute. Are you saying I am related to you through the Leech?"

Great Aunt Angela shook her head. "No, Arthur was more Italian."

"I thought as much, but . . . did you have any other brothers or sisters?"

"No, and even if I did, they would be dead here as well."

"Then this makes no sense. You were saying that she was dead, and she was killed when she was a child, right?"

"That is what I believed."

"But . . . _c'est impossible!_ If that is so, where did my mother come from?"

Angela shook her head. "That is a question I have asked myself for years. I have theories. Dr. Suresh performed several tests on us."

"Mohinder was here? He looks too young."

"It was his father, Chandra Suresh. It's possible at some point he managed to take some blood from her, maybe even an egg, to obtain the necessary DNA material. Perhaps he did some genetic experiment, and got a guard to be a sperm donor, and . . ."

"A test tube baby?"

"Believe it or not, that was the most rational information I had."

"What did my mother say?"

"Ruth didn't know anything about her mother. She was adopted as an infant by a cousin of mine."

"Then how did you find her?"

"Actually, she found me. Gave me quite a start, too. Just after Nathan was born, she came to my house, dressed in a Brownie Girl Scout uniform, selling cookies. She had her hair up in pigtails. She looked just like Alice. That's how I knew, and somehow she knew, about our relationship. We were very close after that. Very close. She was like a daughter to me. It was almost like having Alice back, only she was . . . " She stared out into the distance.

"_Oui_?"

"Well, I will tell you about that another time. Now, we have a mystery to solve."

* * *

Later that morning, he explained to Danko his little predicament. Danko was mostly firm, ordering him to stay as his alter ego, Special Agent Taub. That wasn't news he wanted to hear. Then Danko shared with him a little wisdom. Though he lived several lives, numerous aliases, many wives and girlfriends, he always knew his true self. The way he did it, he said, "Find an anchor, something that reminds you of you. That way when you're feeling lost, you'll have something to hang onto." Then Danko handed him his father's watch, his anchor. They talked a little about that, then Danko started to leave.

"Is Agent Taub married?" he blurted out.

"Don't think so," Danko answered.

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"How the heck should I know?"

"Does he have a sister? A female cousin? Roommate? Landlord?"

"Look, what do you care? Are you really that lonely?"

"I keep seeing a woman. Before I wake up as Agent Taub, she's in my dreams, and then sometimes in the morning, I see her, with these pathetic basset hound eyes. But she always bolts when I try to get a closer look at her or talk to her. I swear, I've never seen her before. Who is she?"

Danko shook his head. "Can't help ya. You're gonna have to ask her yourself."

* * *

In the cabin when everyone was there, Great Aunt Angela told us more plainly what this place was. The more she explained it, the more it sounded to me like a concentration camp. I knew it–eugenics had never died. I shot dirty looks at Nathan every chance he got, trying to blame somebody for it.

"So, why are we here, Mom?" Peter asked impatiently. "You could have told us this in a restaurant. Why here? Why are we digging up those bodies?"

She turned and looked straight at him. "I have been dreaming about my sister . . . alive. That doesn't make sense, but my dreams often don't. They're open to interpretation. They're confusing, but I think–I think . . . I have to see her for myself. I have to find her body, find a piece of clothing, something, anything, to give her a proper burial."

"What do you mean?" I spoke up. "It makes perfect sense! It makes more sense if she's alive than if she's dead!"

"What's he talking about?" Peter asked.

"Well, Peter," Great Aunt Angela said slowly, "I'm his mother's aunt. Alice was my only sister. So, by logic . . . Alice is Gabriel's grandmother."

Peter shook his head. "This is crazy. You should have told us about this place, that you even _had _a sister!"

"Well, where do you think my mother came from?!" I blurted out again.

Peter didn't answer. Great Aunt Angela went on to explain how the Company was formed, everything they did to keep knowledge of their existence a secret. I didn't understand that either. I wanted to speak his mind, but others interrupted my train of thought. It seemed like Peter was on my side on that point. He said angrily, "I'm sorry about happened her, Mom, but it didn't give you the right to do the things you've done, and it still doesn't!"

He started to walk out, but Great Aunt Angela walked toward him. "We need you, Peter. I need you!"

But he said very softly to her, "Your Company tore this family apart. I'm not going to be part of it again!" He left the cabin. His mother called after him.

I watched until someone surprised me by touching me shoulder, making me jump as I looked around. It was Nathan. "Whoa, didn't mean to scare you, kid. How about lunch? My treat."

I crossed his arms because he knew that was an expression of being closed off. "_Non, merci_," I said with absolutely no gratitude in his voice.

Nathan smirked. "You're not still on about that Hitler thing, are you?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but Great Aunt Angela said, "Gabriel needs to stay with me. Whatever we find may be more important to him than anyone here."

"Alright, Ma. Well, I'll talk to Peter." He left the cabin quickly. The spy and Claire soon followed, and as Great Aunt Angela advised, I stayed with her. All she did, though, was stare out the windows, lost in the past.

"I just don't understand," I said. "So many things just . . . just don't make sense. And once they do, everything changes quicker than you can snap your fingers." I tried to snap his fingers to demonstrate, something I never really learned to do.

"I know," she answered. "Curiouser and curiouser."

"Well, how couldn't they have known that you had a sister? I knew you had a sister. Papa told me that you were my mother's mother's sister! And they knew that I was their cousin! Where did they think I came from?!"

"I never made the relationship very clear. Peter was so little, he probably never gave it much thought. And Nathan never grasped the connection; she's always been his favorite babysitter."

"But how did Papa know?"

"As I said, your mother knew that I was her aunt, and I told her about Alice. I didn't tell her about all that happened in this place. She didn't need to know about that. Ruth probably told him so." There was a small pause as I tried to think of another question to ask, but Angela spoke up, "I think you would have liked Alice, Gabriel. She loved to read. Her favorite book was the one that bore her name, _Alice in Wonderland_."

I closed my eyes and remembered one of my favorite quotes from that book, "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad. You must be or you wouldn't have come here."

Great Aunt Angela actually smiled at this and suppressed a laugh.

I looked at her seriously and said, "I really don't understand why we have to be kept secret."

"Look around you, Gabriel! Do you see what happens when we don't?"

"But this is evolution! Isn't it? We can't stop it, so it will keep going. Can we really tamper with fate? One day, the abnormal will be the norm! Why can't we just get people to accept us?"

"Gabriel, that won't be for hundreds of years."

"Well, do you think survival of the fittest was obtained by the dominant species hiding their heads in the sand? I'm just tired of hiding and keeping secrets. Look, I cannot be more than me. I got to be who I am. I got to be honest. What would it cost if I am?"

She sighed and said nothing for a while. Then she looked at me and took my hand. "I can see why this is difficult for you to grasp. You're just going to have to give me the benefit of a doubt. Trust me, one day it will be clearer to you, and I hope that day it won't be too late."

"You see, that's the problem. I learned not to trust you. You told me a very big lie not too long ago."

"Yes, but I'm telling you the truth now. And . . . you need to be easier on Nathan. I know things got out of hand. I know terrible things happened, but most of it was not his fault. He set the ball rolling. It wasn't right, but others made it go out of control. There is a Nazi, but there is no Hitler."

"And it's not–"

"No, it's not Noah. It's Danko."

"He's the one who's made me afraid to step foot out of the lab. Why is he like that?"

"I wish I had a good answer."

"You know, if you were so intent on getting this family back together, why didn't you get my papa?"

"Well, that's simple. No one knows where he is."

"You're lying."

"What makes you think so? Did you get that power like the one Sylar had?"

"No. You scratched under your nose, with your middle finger. That gesture means you're hiding something." I leaned back. "I'm learning the hard way, studying books by Dr. Cal Lightman, who's a world expert on body language and facial expressions, especially related to deception."

"Alright. We don't know exactly where your father is. He makes good use of his shape-shifting power to change into other objects and hide. The good news is he hasn't been caught."

"I miss him. I've been so worried about him. If you knew the general area where he was, you should have sought him out."

"Listen, I have my reasons for not bringing him here. The biggest of which being that I believe it would break his heart."

"Why do you hate him?"

"I don't hate him."

"I don't believe you."

"It's just hard to see him as part of this family. I had the same trouble with Heidi, Nathan's wife, when they got married."

"No, I think it goes beyond that. Do you think he lacks the capability to understand this because of his autism?"

For a moment, Great Aunt Angela looked very offended, as she was about to vehemently deny it, but then she paused, lowered her eyes in shame, and nodded once.

"Then why did you bring me here?"

"Because you were in my dream. Gabriel, I don't know why, but I think it's very important that you see her. You need to be with me. We are going to meet her, Gabriel. We are going to find out everything." She held my hand very tightly as she spoke to me. Then she let go and looked away again.

* * *

OK. How to confront her? Every time he saw her, he was Agent Taub, and he always saw her in the mirror first. It seemed silly, but that may be the only way to get her to take the bait. So, he stood at Agent Taub's mirror, staring at the strange reflection, and waited. He didn't wait long. Once her hand touched his shoulder, he grabbed the hand and turned into himself. "Who are you?" he demanded, but as he looked toward where she stood, there was no one there. His hand was holding nothing. Yet he turned back to the mirror, and he saw her still there, her hand firmly in his grasp.

She looked up at him sadly and said, "You don't know me, and I barely know you."

He let go and looked into the mirror. "What's going on?"

"I had to meet you, Gabriel. I felt now is the time."

"You know me? Who I really am?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I just do. I have a knack for knowing things about people by just looking at them, sometimes things they don't know themselves, like their secrets and their destinies."

He pointed to the reflection. "How . . . why am I seeing you like this?"

"Do you remember a boy named Gavin?"

"Gavin . . . I don't think I do, unless . . ." He had vague memories of a young man holding open his arms as he was surrounded by people he had all seen once before–his own victims. "Was he the one person who gave himself up to me? The one person who wanted me to kill him? The one power I never learned how to work. I had thought it had disappeared. Is that how I'm seeing you?"

The woman nodded.

"That means . . . you're dead."

"Yes."

"Did I kill you?"

"No, I died long before then."

"Then, why are you here?"

"A few reasons. I am here because of what that man, Danko said. I am here to be your anchor, to help you remember who you are when you feel like you're not yourself."

"That's why you show up when I change into Agent Taub. You want me to be me. Thank you. What else?"

"I'm here to ask your forgiveness. I traded your lifetime of sorrow for a year of bliss. I was selfish. If I knew back then how little time I had, perhaps I would have acted differently."

"What are you saying?"

Even though she wasn't there, he could almost feel her lips brush his ear as her reflection whispered to him, "I am your sister, Gabriel."

There was a knock. He quickly turned away from the mirror and opened the door. It was Danko. "What are you doing?"

"I have a sister!"

"Good for you."

"What do you want?"

"We found Rebel. Tell Agent Taub to come join us."

As Danko left, he turned back to the mirror. She was gone. "This is ridiculous. I don't have a sister," he whispered. He turned back into Agent Taub and left.

* * *

A few minutes later, I heard the door open. Claire slipped inside. I approached her, and she gave me a standard cheerleader smile that didn't really look entirely genuine. "Hey," she said quietly.

"_Bonjour_," I replied.

"Can I talk to her for a minute?"

"Be my guest," I said with a gesture.

"_Merci_," Claire nodded. She started walking toward Angela, but then she stepped back. "Dad told me about how he ran into you over at Harvard. Well, he didn't give me all the details, but I hear you're not very happy with him."

"_C'est ca_," (It is so) I nodded.

"I also heard a little bit about what you were doing. You really had amnesty?"

"_Oui_."

"How'd you swing that?"

"I work for the government. I'm a spy, like your father."

"And you were able to pass it on to others, like us, successfully?"

"As best I could."

"You know, I can identify. I also had a free pass because of my relationship to Nathan."

"I heard about that."

"Yeah, I was encouraged to do some of the Underground Railroad stuff myself. It was tough work."

"Like every day there is a fear of walking out into the street."

"Yeah, exactly."

"I really wish you could have let me know you were well."

"I guess maybe I didn't think about it. Well, let's talk later. I got more to say, but I need to talk to her."

I nodded. Claire sat down across from Angela and simply asked her why she didn't tell her sons about their aunt. Great Aunt Angela completely evaded her question, but instead highly praised her "courage and self-confidence." I know it's rude to eavesdrop, but I couldn't help overhear. It made me feel sad inside because I very seriously doubted my aunt saw the same qualities in me. I even whimpered as a tear misted my eye, which caught Claire's attention. I turned away, wiped the tear with a handkerchief, and tried to get control of myself. Claire stopped this flattery by reminding Angela of the question. Great Aunt Angela answered her, "You ever do something so awful, something you are so ashamed of that you think if you ever talk about it, you might never stop crying?"

That question caught my attention. What had she done to Grandmother? Perhaps this is why she needed me; she had to confess what terrible thing she had done. I didn't have much time to think about it, for that moment, I was hit by an incredible blast of wind from the door, almost knocking me to my feet.

"Where did this come from?" Claire yelled over the wind.

"This is what happened in my dream!" Angela yelled back. "It's impossible, but it is! It's her, it's Alice!"

"_Ma grand-mere?_ She's out there, in that?" I yelled.

"She's causing it, Gabriel! That's her power; she can control the weather! Come on!" Angela tightly grabbed my arm. The three of us walked out the door. Claire stood on the stairs and called for her dad, but Angela, still with her hand in a vice grip around my arm, ran ahead yelling, "Alice! ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE!"

And though I felt rather silly, I yelled with her, "_GRAAAAAAAAAAND-MEEEEEEEEEEEERE!"_ I thought for a moment that I saw a figure moving out in the storm. But then I stopped and bent over as the sand from the wind got caught in his throat and made me cough.

Claire grabbed us both and pulled us back into the cabin. I continued to cough, but I couldn't get rid of the tickle in my throat. My eyes also stung with dust and debris. I thought I was crazy for going out in that, or for letting his aunt take me. But I also wondered what I saw out there. Was it Grandmother?

"Are you ok?" Claire asked me over and over. I gestured to her that he was. She looked at Great Aunt Angela. "Where can I get him some water?"

"Not here," she replied. "The bathhouse is in another cabin."

"Then what can I do?"

"It'll be alright. He'll get over it!"

That's how much she thought of me?! She wouldn't give me a cup of water when I'm choking!

Great Aunt Angela started pacing around, muttering to herself, still caught up in the past. She kept talking about how she tried to warn those around her so that her sister could be saved. She thought it was too late, but now she knew her sister was alive.

Claire yelled at her, "If this is your sister, why is she doing this?"

"She's angry!" Angela answered.

"Or afraid," I suggested.

"Perhaps," Angela nodded. She looked up at Claire, "You don't believe me."

"Storms happen!" Claire yelled back.

"It's my sister!" she insisted.

"What if it's not?"

"No, I need to go find her!" She grabbed my arm again. "Gabriel, let's go!"

"No! It's too dangerous out there!" Claire protested.

"She's right!" I agreed. "I am not going back out there! We will wait until the storm subsides to find her."

"That will be too late!" Angela yelled. Her fingernails sank deep into my skin as she knelt down to me. "Gabriel, it will be OK! She won't hurt us!"

"Why should I believe you?"

"You have to! Trust me, Gabriel, this is our chance! Come on!"

So I got to my feet and ran out with her. She pulled me in close and hugged me tightly. I covered my face for a moment. Then, I felt like I was being sucked up into a tube. Slowly, I realized I was airborne, floating. Something about the wind didn't sound loud and howling anymore. It sounded gentle. I felt like I was being rocked in a cradle. I glanced up and saw the debris delicately dancing around me. The cloud seemed to have a mysterious glow. It was very strange, but this terrible, terrifying storm was like Grandmother's lullaby. I even started to nod off and fell asleep in my great aunt's arms.

* * *

He traded in one stupid kid for another. This one wasn't as annoying as the other, but he was spouting the same righteous junk that Michael had been feeding him, convinced that he could change. He saved the kid's life, maybe just because he was a kid. Once the boy was asleep, he addressed this other problem. He watched the mirror until the woman appeared again.

"You're haunting the wrong guy. I don't have a sister."

"Not one that you know about. There are probably others."

"What? So, I searched for answers in the wrong place. Is that what you're saying? Instead of looking for my father, I should have looked for my other brothers and sisters?"

"Technically, I am your half sister. We share the same father."

"That pathetic man dying of cancer, wallowing in his own cynicism? He's your father?"

"That's right."

"Well, did he sell you, too?"

She shook her head. "He didn't even know I existed. You see, Gabriel, he didn't just get his powers from murdering people. He did other things. Terrible things."

"You're saying . . .?"

"Yeah."

His stomach turned. "Yuck. Well, I respect him even less now. Well, tell me this, why . . .?"

He then saw the kid's reflection in the mirror. "Who are you talking to?" he asked.

"None of your business. Micah, get back to bed."

"I was just thinking, you saved me by shape-shifting, right? I know someone else who can do that, and I think you know him too." He pulled a picture out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was Michael. "His name's Mr. Bonhomme. I don't know his first name. I've been looking all over for him, and I can't find him. I've been told you might know where he is."

"And why would I?"

"I don't know, but that's one of the main reasons I was in D.C."

"Why would you want to find him?"

"Maybe I want to convince him to change into someone who can make a difference, someone like . . . Senator Nathan Petrelli. Or you could do that! You can tell the President that he's made a big mistake!"

Now, I was annoyed. "I'm giving you a chance to leave. I would take it before I change my mind."

"No. I'm not leaving until you tell me where he is."

"I'm not telling you. I'm not even acknowledging that I know him."

"Micah!" a voice called behind us. Somehow, the woman's reflection appeared in the mirror again. She pointed to a folded napkin on a chest of drawers. Micah quickly snatched it and ran for it.

"Don't come back!" I yelled at him. "If I find you again, I'll kill you." The boy didn't look back, but it was just as well. I turned back to the mirror. "How did you know?"

The woman's reflection answered, "I think in your hearts of hearts, Gabriel, you know the answer to that question."

* * *

I didn't remember dreaming. It was a very shallow sleep. But I woke up with a start. Actually, Great Aunt Angela woke up first with an astonished gasp. I was right next to her, tightly wound up in a quilt on a hard mattress. "Where are we?" I asked groggily.

"I don't know," Great Aunt Angela got up as she looked around the dark, packed room. "I've never seen this place before."

"Is it a warehouse?"

Great Aunt Angela stared at the old newspapers around her. "It looks like it."

"Is she here?"

She looked around. "I don't think she is now."

"Curiouser and curiouser." I sat up on the bed and looked at her. "I couldn't help but overhear what you thought of Claire a moment ago. What do you think of me?"

"Pardon?"

"What do you see when you see me?"

"Well, Gabriel, you are a very intelligent boy, but you are also plainly confused and scared and . . ."

"Weak?"

Great Aunt Angela didn't answer but picked a book off the floor.

"Did you hear me? As opposed to Claire, who you think is strong, do you think I'm weak?"

"To tell you the truth, Gabriel," Great Aunt Angela replied, her voice breaking, "when I see you, I see your mother." She smiled at me sadly. "I wish you could have known her. She was such a remarkable person. She literally put her heart and soul into everything she ever did. It was hard not to love her. And you were her masterpiece, her _piece de resistance."_

"Then why did she die?"

"Oh, Gabriel, not now. That's an entirely different story."

"Why not?"

At that moment, the door opened.

My eyes ached as they adjusted to the sunlight flooding the dark room. I heard footsteps come down the stairs and felt a gentle breeze enter the room. Standing at the open door was a woman with gray, tangled hair in tattered clothes, carrying canned food in her arms. Great Aunt Angela asked timidly, "Alice?" The woman only looked back silently. I wasn't sure if she even saw me.

She then turned away and started putting the cans in shelves. Great Aunt Angela continued to speak to her gently, trying to coax her to talk to her or at least look at her. But the old woman didn't turn around. She only started a record player to play the old song "Crying." A look of bliss crossed her tired face as she sank into the music.

"Do you think she might be on the spectrum?" I whispered.

"No. Impossible. Not my sister," Great Aunt Angela answered. I took major offense at that, but I didn't reply. I continued to watch the old woman as she stood still in complete ecstasy as the song continued to play. As the song ended, Great Aunt Angela walked closer to her and touched the back of her hand. The woman jumped as though she was shocked back to reality. Then, she spoke.

"I'm alive. You're not going crazy." She turned to Great Aunt Angela and smiled. "I almost didn't recognize you. You look so old! Do I look old?" She patted her face as though she was preening.

Great Aunt Angela smiled back. "No, you look beautiful."

I moved forward and started to speak, but Great Aunt Angela gestured for me to stay back.

"Alice, how is this possible? How? Have you been here for fifty years?"

Alice turned away. "When I found this place, it was packed with food. When I went through that, I did what I had to do. I stole what I needed: clothes, food, stuff."

I tried to swallow the lump I got in my throat from hearing that. Grandmother was a thief!

"Why did you stay?" Great Aunt Angela asked.

Alice then looked at her as if it should had been obvious. "You told me! Your dream! You said I'd be safe if I stayed here. And I trusted you. I thought I'd be safe here, and the world would be safe . . . from me."

"From you?" she repeated. The same words echoed ominously in my mind.

"And I was safe here, except . . . "

"The night I left?"

Alice looked away again with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Alice." Great Aunt Angela approached her gently. "What happened that night, Alice?"

"When you left," Alice answered quietly, "that doctor, Suresh, he came for me. He tried to give me a shot, but I was scared. As they grabbed my arm to jab in the needle, I caused a storm to come. I ran outside as fast as I could. Dr. Suresh grabbed me, ordered me to calm down. Then, he slapped me. Another man from the grounds came to my side and attacked him, and then . . . and then . . ." She started to cry, "the guards just kept shooting! I ducked under a building for cover, but it's a miracle I survived!" She covered her face with a purple blanket and cried. I just worked over the details of her story, trying to make what was important to me make sense.

Great Aunt Angela, meanwhile, sat next to her sister and stroked her hair. "You don't have to stay here anymore. Let me help you. It's time to go home." Alice took the cloth off her face and looked at her sister, smiling. Great Aunt Angela held her hand. "I have socks for you," she said softly.

"_Les chaussettes encore?_" I wondered.

Alice didn't seem to understand either, so Great Aunt Angela explained, "Since that night, whenever I feel lost, whenever I don't know what to do, I steal socks for you to remind myself there are simple ways to protect the ones we love. You don't ever have to be cold ever again!"

Now, I had to contend with the fact that my grandmother and my great aunt are thieves, but as of right now, there was something weightier on my conscience, namely if this is my grandmother at all. "So . . . you are saying that the doctor . . . did not draw blood?"

Alice looked toward me for the first time, and a look of confusion and terror crossed her face.

"Alice, it's alright," Great Aunt Angela tried to assure her. "This is Gabriel. I brought him with me because he needs to meet you. He's–"

"I'm not sure if that's true anymore," I said as I came nearer to her. "Mademoiselle Alice, did you have a daughter?"

Alice slowly shook her head. "No."

"_Non? _You never had a child?"

"No! No!"

"So, she's not! She's–"

Suddenly, Alice stood and screamed, "GET AWAY FROM ME! STAY AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE! NOOOOOOOO!" The wind started to pick up outside. I very quickly got away from the door, but the storm steadily got worse.

"Oh no!" Great Aunt Angela hugged Alice as she looked into her sister's pained face. "Alice, it's alright. It's in the past; you're safe now. I'm so sorry, Alice. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"WHAT?!" I shouted over the wind. "HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT? HOW CAN I FIND OUT ANYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING IF YOU DON'T LET HER TELL ME? I THOUGHT THAT WAS THE WHOLE REASON I CAME HERE!"

"GABRIEL, YOU DON'T HAVE TO FIND OUT ANYMORE. I CAN TELL NOW, THE MYSTERY IS SOLVED!" She then gestured for me to come closer. I fought against the wind until I reached her, then she pulled me down and said quietly into my ear, "_Elle sont viole." _(She was raped.)

At that, I stood upright and stared at old Alice. I felt the blood drain out of my face, and my stomach twisted and turned. I staggered back until I ran into some shelves, still feeling tremendously dizzy, hearing my heart pound in my ears. This was worse than my grandmother being a thief. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe it!

"Gabriel, are you alright?" Angela asked.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I warned.

"IT'S OK, GABRIEL!"

"IT'S NOT OK!" A brilliant blue light surrounded me, and I couldn't feel the wind anymore. A bolt of lightning came in through the door, but instead of hitting me, it bounced off the light. I started walking toward Alice and held out my hand.

"NO! GABRIEL, DON'T! SHE CAN'T HELP WHAT HAPPENED! SHE'S A VICTIM, GABRIEL. DON'T MAKE HER PAY! DON'T MAKE HER PAY ANYMORE FOR MY MISTAKES!"

"BANANA, IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT!" Alice cried.

"YES, IT IS! I LIED TO YOU THAT NIGHT. I THOUGHT I WAS DOING THE RIGHT THING! I WAS TRYING TO PROTECT YOU, TO SAVE YOU! IT'S MY FAULT THIS HAPPENED! I'M SORRY! I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN!"

"YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"

The storm got so bad, it almost brought the little bunker down. More lightning shocked through the doorway, and it hit Great Aunt Angela. Somehow, Peter found them, and Mohinder was with them. He told Alice to calm herself, but she only responded with more lightning. I grabbed my head and screamed. I didn't know what to do, how to feel anymore. Alice was crying.

Great Aunt Angela fought the tumult to talk to her. "ALICE, STOP! THIS ISN'T THEIR FAULT! THIS IS YOUR FAMILY! THIS IS MY SON! HE'S YOUR NEPHEW, ALICE, AND GABRIEL IS YOUR GRANDSON! YOU HAVE A FAMILY FULL OF LOVE. WE'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN HEAL THIS TERRIBLE PAST!"

Meanwhile, Peter put his hands on my shoulders. His palms glowed a dull purple for a few seconds, and I could feel all the anxiety leave me. "It's OK, Gabe," Peter whispered. "Take a deep breath. It's gonna be alright."

The wind began to die down, and I began to calm down as well. I approached Alice again. "_Je suis desole._ I was frightened and perhaps . . . overreacted."

She only went closer to me and tightly grasped my wrist. "What's her name?" she asked, looking straight into my face.

"Ruth," I said timidly.

Alice smiled. "Ruth! That's beautiful. It rhymes with 'truth!'"

I slowly shook my head because they don't rhyme in French, but she didn't seem to notice. She took a ring off her little finger and put it into my hand. "Please, give this to her. It's all I have left from my mother." She closed my hand over the ring and gently patted my knuckles. "Tell her I'm sorry."

"But–"

"Come on," Great Aunt Angela spoke up. "Let's get out of here. Let's go home. Say goodbye, Alice."

Alice looked not at her sister but in my eyes. "Goodbye," she whispered. She went up the stairs into the sunlight. Great Aunt Angela and I ran after her, but she was gone. I stood there silently for a while, then I fell on my knees and wept bitterly without really understanding why. Great Aunt Angela sat on the ground with me and put her arms around my shoulders. She was crying, too.

* * *

The next thing he knew, he was going through Senator Nathan Petrelli's office. He spent some time going through all the knick-knacks in his desk then browsed through his many degrees, awards, and family photos. Every time he looked at something that was behind glass, he saw her face. "Gabriel!" her voice echoed in his ears. He quickly looked away, but she was in the next one. "I know what you're thinking. I know what you're planning to do. Gabriel, please don't do this. You don't have to do this."

"Let's agree to disagree, sis," he answered.

"Can't you at least think about what you're about to do? Give it some time. Find your hope."

"Stop it."

"What's the matter?"

He faced a mirror. "Don't you know what kind of brother you have? I kill people, just like our father. I've murdered dozens of people, even my own mother. Well, my adopted mother. I'm sure you didn't live with your real parents. But still."

"I do know, Gabriel. It's my fault."

"Why do you blame yourself? I never knew you! You never knew me!"

"And that was the problem. What you don't know, Gabriel, was that I was given the chance to raise you. The only time in my life I saw you was in a photograph. I knew who you were instantly, but in order to have that chance, I had to relinquish the man I wanted to marry, my chance at a son that I saw in my dreams. I couldn't give that up. Besides, I didn't feel mature enough to take you. There's not really so much of an age difference between us. I mean, I was older, but I didn't feel much older. I wasn't ready for that. But for days afterward, I regretted my choice. You haunted my dreams, my thoughts. The whole nine months I was pregnant, I couldn't get you out of my head. So . . . I named my son after you."

It started to come together. He remembered a boy crying and saying in French, "You really are my namesake."

"Gabriel . . . Bonhomme," he whispered.

"I should have sought you out," she continued. "I should have made you a part of my life. Then maybe things . . . would have been different for you. You're a good person going to waste, Gabriel. Because of my failure, you don't know how special you are."

"I don't think so. How can I be special? How can I be anything when I killed the only woman who loved me?"

In the reflection, she put her arms around my shoulders, and once more, I could almost feel her there. "Because I wasn't there to love you, too."

"I can't find hope. I have no hope."

"Then I'll give you mine. It's not like I need it anymore." Then she came closer, and I saw her lips press against my cheek. She also reached for my hand and slipped something there that looked in the mirror like a sky blue egg. And I watched as her reflection faded away. I touched my cheek where she kissed me, but I didn't feel the impression of lips. It felt more like . . . a tear.

Then I looked in the mirror and asked aloud, "What kind of man am I? I'm crazy! I must crazy to be me!" And he started weeping again, just bawling like a baby, just like he did a few days ago in the woods. Yet as he watched in the mirror, he saw his shape-shifting power go haywire. He changed into every person he ever morphed into every few seconds. One moment he was Danko, the next he was Bennet, the next he was Bennet's wife, the next he was the kid, the next he was Namesake, and on and on. And they were all crying. It was as though they were crying with him.

After a while, he started pulling himself together. There was only one way to stop this.

* * *

That evening, I watched as Peter spoke to Mohinder. I only caught a few things of what the doctor said, about how he wasn't ready to leave yet. Peter shook his hand, and then I went up to my old friend and mentor. "I'm glad to see your leech bites have healed."

Mohinder gave me a strange look. "Leech bites?"

"When I last saw you, you were working with the Leech, and you had all these strange marks on your skin. I thought that was where he got you."

"He means Dad," Peter explained.

"Oh! Well, that was something unrelated but . . . yes, I am quite glad it cleared up as well."

"I'll give you guys a minute. Don't take too long, though. Everybody's hungry."

"_Merci, _Peter!" I called as Peter walked toward a car. Then I turned to the doctor because if anyone had an answer to this question it would be him. "Mohinder, tell me, is this evolution?"

"I don't know anymore."

(Or so I thought.) "I just don't understand why this is happening. Why are we hunted? Why are we hated? I thought people were glad that humanity was continuing to develop. Wasn't that the whole reason you were nominated for the Nobel?"

"It is odd. Perhaps we are naive. Unlike beasts, we are unable to accept such changes. After all, we fail to understand when others are different. We tend to get jealous or stare. Either way, we ostracize each other."

"Will we ever be celebrated? Accepted?"

"I don't know, Gabriel. I really don't know."

"Why are you here? You are not related to the Petrellis."

"I came here because I learned my father used to work here. I wanted to learn more of what he did here. From what I hear, I am not sure I want to know."

"Do you know Walter Bishop?"

"Walter Bishop?"

"I work with him. I've mentioned you a few times, and every time he says the name Suresh sounds familiar. Maybe he knows some things about your father."

"I worked with someone named Bob Bishop a little while ago. Any relation?"

"He's a cousin, but Dr. Bishop doesn't talk about him. He's a fascinating man, a bit eccentric but so is everybody else. And he's brilliant. He deserves a Nobel, but he'll never get one because he's listed as clinically insane, though I don't believe it."

"Uh, OK, thanks." Mohinder gave me a bit of an uncomfortable smile, then he turned toward Coyote Sands. "As I was telling Peter, perhaps the truth, like these graves, should remained buried."

I nodded sadly. "I can understand that. Sometimes when you look too closely to the truth, you find something you never thought, and didn't want, to be there."

"Exactly."

"I just learned a lot of things about my family that left a sour taste in my mouth."

"Sorry to hear that." Mohinder probably wished to give me more encouragement, but with these circumstances he couldn't.

I nodded again. I put his hand in my pocket and felt the ring Grandmother gave me. "I guess in the end, we just need to tell ourselves that it will be alright eventually. You know, things won't be alright all the time. So, we just need to take our chances where they lie and try to see things for what they are."

Mohinder nodded. "Wise words."

"Well, _bonne chance_." (Good luck.)

"Same to you, my friend."

* * *

We went to a diner just in the town. Everyone sat at one table in the middle of the floor, except for Great Aunt Angela, who stood in the back, and me. I sat in a booth by myself and contemplated the ring Grandmother gave me. Nathan went to the back and spoke to Great Aunt Angela. Then, she came and sat across from me. "Why did you attack her?" she asked.

I didn't look up but continued to stare at the ring. "I didn't mean to attack her. I had nothing against her. I know she was a victim. It's just the thought that bothers me, and I don't know why. I'm the son of a . . . I can't even say it!"

"Don't! Don't," she answered gently.

"It makes me feel . . . like I'm not part of this family. Unclean. Illegitimate. Like I don't belong. But I guess I already felt that way."

"I thought maybe it was because you saw her as damaged goods."

"Well, perhaps I did. I'm sorry. I know about the double standard, but it's not right the other way either."

"Gabriel, it's alright. Because it made me realize that this is how I treated you and your father. You were wonderful, impressive people, but I saw you as damaged goods. And that is why I misused you and abused you. But I am trying to change. I have been trying to let go of my deceit. It's led to nothing but pain these past few years. It's hard, but you will be patient with me, yes?"

"I will try."

"And don't give this a second thought, Gabriel. It doesn't change the amazing person your mother was, or who you are. You do hold a place in this family, Gabriel, and you always will, no matter what."

"I suppose this means I don't have a grandfather, not one I would want to meet anyway."

She looked away. "Gabriel, since you brought that up, I think I know who that might have been. Just after I left Coyote Sands, I had dreams that–"

"_Non!_ _S'il vous plait_, don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"Are you sure?"

"If you tell me, he will haunt me with fear and with anger and, perhaps, with a temptation for . . . vengeance. I don't want that."

Great Aunt Angela sighed. "I don't think I'll ever see her again, but you might." She handed Gabe a book with a faded jacket that read _Alice in Wonderland_. "If you do see her, make sure to read Alice her favorite story."

"You don't know for sure, do you?"

"Not at present."

I grinned. "Curiouser and curiouser."

Great Aunt Angela laughed again. She said with me, "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

"Well, I think we got two extra seats at our tea party if you want to join us," Peter offered.

She nodded over to the table. "How about it, nephew?"

I said, "OK," and got up with her.

Everyone must have been hungry, because we got very quiet after that. We were all just our hamburgers and "French" fries. It was Claire who broke the silence. "OK, please, someone say something."

I looked across the table at Nathan. "So, you mother told me that my mother used to be your babysitter."

Nathan put his hamburger down and looked at me with shock. "Your mother was Ruth Shaw?"

"Why don't you tell me about her?"

But he didn't because the next moment changed everything. Again.

To be continued . . .


	7. Mind over Matter

Chapter 7: Mind over Matter

Before Nathan could speak, we heard his voice coming from the television. We looked up and saw his face at a press conference. He was talking about wanting to meet with the President for some reason. I initially thought it was taped earlier (the glare from the lights obscured the "Live" at the top of the screen from my vantage point), but everyone stared at it.

"Who the heck is that?" Nathan said coldly.

"Sylar," the spy answered.

Fear stabbed my heart. I hoped for a moment I misheard. The tears were already coming. "_Non! Non! NON!" _I started crying hard.

"Gabriel, what's wrong?" Great Aunt Angela asked.

"What I feared," I said between sobs. "Sylar . . . killed . . . PAPA!"

"Gabriel, straighten up," the spy said firmly. "You're making an assumption."

"He has his power! He must have . . ."

"It wasn't your father, though. I checked into it myself. It was another shape-shifter. I don't even remember his name now, but it's not your father."

I started to calm down. "Are you sure?"

"Danko showed me Sylar's corpse in a body bag. I was about to call you and let you know he was gone for good, but I checked it out first and found out the body belonged to a shape-shifter."

I took a couple of deep breaths, dried my tears, and blew my nose. "OK."

"His powers don't work quite the same as your father's, who can turn into anything that crosses his mind. Sylar has to absorb DNA before he can transform. That makes things a bit easier, but now he's one handshake away from being the most powerful man on Earth."

"Well, maybe the President won't meet with him," Claire said.

"Are you kidding, after that vitriol?" Nathan asked. "I'm sure my staff's arranging a sit-down with him as we speak."

Everybody started devising a plan of how to go about this, but Nathan only held to one–his own. "I started this. I gotta end it." Those words struck true with me.

As he got up to leave, I followed. "Nathan!" I called out to him.

He looked like he was about to take off, but he reluctantly walked back. "What's up, Gabe?"

"I just wanted to say I had you wrong. Hitler never apologized, never admitted he was wrong, and he never tried to correct his mistakes. I shouldn't have compared you to him. _Je suis desole."_

He smiled. _"Non, Gabriel, _je _suis desole."_ And he gave me a hug. "Don't worry, Gabe, I'll end this. " Then he looked at me seriously. "I'm going to have to take a rain check on talking about your mom, but I'll tell you everything when this is all over. I got some good memories."

"Good," I said with a smile.

He looked like he was about to take off again, but he stopped. "Why don't I drop you off in Cambridge?"

"_Non_, _merci_. Nathan, your errand is more important. I don't want to be any trouble."

"Please, it's the least I can do."

Then, I had an idea, but I had to get to the lab as soon as I could. A cross-country car trip wouldn't do it. "_D'accord_," (OK) I said. I got in his arms, and he flew away.

Luckily, when I got there, Dr. Bishop was still in the lab. "There you are, Jiminy!"

"It's Gabri–Gabe," I said impatiently. I came up briskly so that I was standing face to face with him. "Dr. Bishop, is there any way I can meet my mother?"

"You don't . . . know your mother?"

"_Non_, she died when I was still an infant. I spent some time with my extended family all day, and I learned some things about my mother I never knew, and some of it wasn't pleasant. I've got to ask her some questions. You know of some of the fringe of science, and I've seen you cross the border. If anyone knows how, it's you. Is there any way I can meet her? Go back in time, converse with her corpse, see her in a dream, I don't care! I just want to meet her! Is it possible?"

"Actually, I believe it is. Now, the procedure is one I would not typically recommend, but in your case, I believe you are the perfect candidate."

"Excellent. Let's do it right away!"

"Right away?"

"I know. I'm tired, you're tired, but I'll help. Listen, you remember I told you about the serial killer who shares my name. Well, he has a plan, and he's trying to put an end to all of us. I think my mother will have answers about that, too. So we don't have a moment to lose."

"Very well. Let's begin preparations."

We started by filling up the tank with water and ice. He was also putting together a chemical combination. I started taking off my shirt and jeans. "Will this involve needles? Because needles do make me a little nervous."

"In that case, bottoms up," he said handing me a beaker. "Now, you do know what's in this."

"As long as I don't make this a habit, it should be fine, right?"

"Yes, of course."

As soon as it went down, I felt myself go limp. He put me in the tank. "Now, you will soon drift into sleep. I know you're quite used to this environment, so it shouldn't take too long. You've told me before that you need to think yourself to sleep, correct?"

"_C'est ca."_

"Then tonight, you must think about your mother, everything you know about her. I will be right here monitoring you in case something goes wrong."

"_Merci beaucoup_, doctor."

"Don't thank me yet," he said quietly as he closed the doors.

* * *

"You know, Michael," Samson said after a bout of coughs, "ever since you came here, this whole place smells like a cupcake."

"I'm allergic to secondhand smoke," Michael explained. "So I've been using my ability to change it into more pleasant fumes. I always found vanilla to be soothing. Do you not like it? I can change it. Lavender, camomile, chocolate, hey since this is a tree now, maybe we could make it smell like tree bark."

"It's not that. I've met several customers who were non-smokers, some who outright objected to my chain smoking. None of them have ever brought an air freshener with them. It's rude. Besides, I kinda like the smell of tobacco smoke. Sure, it was strong when I started, but I got used to it."

Michael smiled. "That reminds me of a passage from a book. Do you read much, Mr. Gray?"

"Not really."

"Well, I think you'd like this book, _Night Rider _by Robert Penn Warren. It's not one of his better known novels, but I like it. It's about some renegades that burn tobacco fields because of high tobacco prices. And there's a lot of murder and suspense that makes it an interesting read. But there's one part around the end that's a compelling passage. There's a character, Doctor MacDonald, who's sent to jail. The protagonist, Percy Munn goes to visit him, and he asks him if it stinks. Munn says it does a little. MacDonald explains that the stench was overpowering when he first got put in jail, but after a while, he failed to notice it anymore. He says, 'A man gets used to a thing. It gets natural to him. That's what I don't like, it getting so natural. It looks like a stink oughter stay a stink to a man.'"

Samson chuckled the coughed. "Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is true, and I see it put into practice right before me. You are not only used to the smell of your tobacco, animal corpses, and preserving chemicals, but you have become used to the stench of your own cynicism, your hopelessness, your doubt, your misanthropy! And when someone comes in here trying to open your nose to something a bit more pleasant, a bit more cheer and joy and kindness, you turn away in disgust. Why is that?"

"I told you not to go there, Michael!"

"I am sorry, Mr. Gray. I'm just calling it as I see it."

"That's true. And I kinda do like that." He coughed once more. "You know, I do enjoy your being here. It's nice to have someone do the chores, and stuff like that" (more coughs) "that's a challenge."

"I'm glad you think so, sir." Michael glanced out the window. "My, that's an evil-looking sky."

"Don't worry about it. It shouldn't be too bad."

"How do you know?"

"There's only been one storm in my life that's been really bad. Everything else pales in comparison."

* * *

Hanami heard Gabriel come in and ask about his mother. It made her think about what Mr. July said. She kept thinking about it until she saw him again. "Gabriel was asking about his mother. Is this when I need to help him?"

He looked toward the tank. "Yes."

"What do I need to do?"

"Come. I will help you." He walked over to the tank, and she followed him. "Put your hand on the door." She did, and she began glowing like the sun. He put his hand on hers, and he also glowed. Then he yelled, "Gabriel!"

I opened my eyes. I could hear someone calling my name, but the voice sounded distant and broken, like a cellphone with bad reception. _"Allo?"_ I called. No one answered. I slowly opened the door. It was the lab, but it looked dark and deserted. That must have been part of the dream, because I know Dr. Bishop wouldn't leave me. I could still hear a voice calling me. _"Je suis ici!" _(Here I am) I answered, but I heard no response.

I saw my clothes on the floor. I hastily put on my jeans and my shirt. I reached for my socks, but I only got one. Before I could pick up the other one, it disappeared, and everything changed. Daylight flooded the room. The floor was carpeted. As I looked around, I saw that this didn't looked like a lab at all. It was more like a home, a living room. This must be it. I must have traveled in time somehow. The doctor did it.

I saw a chaise lounge pulled up to a window, and in the chair sat a woman. I recognized her hair and the shape of her head. "Mama!"

I ran up to hug her from behind, but the moment she turned around and I saw her face, I backed away. She didn't look like my mother at all. And yet, she did. It took me a moment to realize why. She had wrinkles, bags under her eyes, and gray in her hair. She was _old_. In every picture I've seen of her, she was young because she died young. "_C'est impossible!"_

And she said almost at the same time, "It's impossible!" She got up and ran to another room. I was too stunned and confused to follow. How could this be? I couldn't have traveled through time. I sure even ghosts don't age. I've never heard of anything like that, anyway.

A moment later, a man I didn't recognize came to me. He was a tall man with a long face and graying hair. He almost looked like Sylar but . . . older. _"Vous ette Gabriel Bonhomme?"_ he asked in a gentle, grandfatherly voice.

I nodded nervously. "_Oui. Qui ette vous?" _(Who are you?) He didn't answer, so I asked again. "_Qui ette vous?"_

He only shook his head. "_Je suis desole. Vous avez ete trompe."_

"I have been misled? How so?"

The woman I thought was my mother said softly, "Who is he, Willam?"

"He is one of the reasons I came here."

* * *

Micah wandered through the woods and wondered if he read the address right. It was the right piece of land, but he didn't see anyone living here. It was all just wilderness. After a while, he just started calling out, "Mr. Bonhomme! Mr. Bonhomme! Where are you?" Then he heard a twig snap. He turned around and saw someone walking through the forest. "Hey, excuse me, I'm looking for–"

But he stopped short when the person turned around. It was an old woman with tangled hair. She almost looked like a witch. "Go back to your home, boy," she said sternly. "There's a storm coming."

"I didn't hear anything about a storm on the weather ra–"

"There's a storm coming! If you don't want to get hurt, go back home!"

"Listen, I'm looking for someone. I have an address that he should be here. Before I go anywhere, I need to find him. Do you know where he is?"

She looked away. "I am looking for someone too, and he is going to die."

* * *

"Didn't you say you're from France?" Samson asked.

"That's right," Michael nodded.

"I thought everybody smoked in France. And," he coughed again, "just why are you so pious anyway, while I'm on the subject? I don't know France for being such a moral country, and certainly not very caring."

"The answer to that goes back for centuries. My ancestors were poor vine dressers, but they somehow got their hands on a vernacular Bible, written in French. They learned to read it and to understand it. They learned there were things in that book that weren't taught in the churches. They were imprisoned and tortured for having the Bible in their possession, but they never gave it up. They promised that from then on, our family would follow what the Bible said, to follow God and not man."

"You keep looking out the window with worry. What's the matter, you afraid? Where's the God you've been following now, huh?"

"He is on His throne." He turned to him. "Besides, you told me not to worry."

"Yes," Samson said as he sat down.

"That storm before was worse than this?"

"It was almost forty years ago. I came in for shelter. It just kept getting worse and worse. The thing, though, was that the storm was the worst inside."

"How could that be?"

Samson just laughed deliriously. For the first time, he didn't cough at all.

* * *

The tall stranger sat down and inhaled something through a mask. The woman I thought was my mother gave me a hot cup of coffee, but almost as suddenly as it was placed in my hand, it was empty. Then the man looked at me. "Why are you here, Gabriel? How did you get here? Did Olivia send you?"

"How do you know Mademoiselle Dunham?"

He smiled. "I've known Olivia since she was a child. Such a strong, brave girl. But answer the question, please. Did she send you through the gate?"

"_Non, monsieur. _I asked Dr. Bishop if there was any way I could meet my mother, and he put me in a deep sleep, and here I am. But surely it hasn't worked. This is just a strange dream. My mother cannot be old. She died when she was a little older than my age now. And you, are you an older Sylar?"

He nodded slowly. I thought for a moment he was saying yes to my question, but then he said, "That's right. I forgot, you are one of the limitless ones. And forgive my manners. This is all so sudden for me." In almost a blink of an eye, he was standing in front of me with his hand outstretched. "I am William Bell."

Then I was a little stunned. Still, in disbelief, I took his hand and shook it. "William Bell? Of _Le Dynamic Massif? _What are you doing here? I always thought you lived in Silicone Valley, next-door neighbors with Bill Gates."

"There are many reasons I came here, but quite a few of them have to do with her." He pointed to the woman.

"My mother, but it cannot be my mother."

"This is the same woman, but she is not your mother."

I just shook my head. I didn't understand.

"Gabriel, are you familiar with the concept of parallel universes?"

"You mean the plot device often used in science fiction concerning worlds that are identical to this one except most people are left handed, and right is wrong and black is white, that kind of thing?"

"That's one way of looking at it."

"I just can't see any way that could be possible."

"Well, there is a way. It's complicated, but there is a way. I found it."

"So, I'm in another universe. How will I get back home?"

"Technically, you are already back home. It is your mind that brought you here. Your body is still asleep on the other side. In due time, it will wake." He smiled at me again. "You are very fortunate, Gabriel. There are so many things you can do."

"Is that why you funded research for NorthPoint? You wanted to learn everything we can do, at our expense?"

"Olivia said the same things to me. You just need to understand and try to give me the benefit of a doubt. As I told her, in the pursuit of knowledge, there are always unintended consequences."

"Well, what if one of them was my father? It almost was, you know."

He sighed and looked down. He looked sad and tired. Suddenly, he was sitting back in the chair. "Yes. This is a conversation I didn't want to have. I was going to various countries, studying abroad in Germany, Spain, England, Russia. Walter stayed at Harvard. Eventually, I met Angela Petrelli, and she introduced me to Ruth. And something very unexpected happened. I became very deeply infatuated with her. Everything she did was filled with such kindness and warmth, it was infectious. It was a terrible feeling because I loved her, and yet I felt like I was betraying my work. I was distraught when she chose your father over me, but I was intrigued by him. I did make him the subject of some of my experiments. He got some money out of it, enough to pay for Ruth's . . . wedding ring. It tore me up, when she died. So when I found my way here, I sought Ruth out. Amazingly, she was still single and still alive, and I asked her to marry me. Which is something else unique about your being here, Gabriel."

"What's that?"

"We haven't had children. You don't exist on this side because you were never born."

That was an eerie thought. I didn't know what to say to that. "Do you know much about her past?"

"There are some things we do not discuss."

"I can understand that. It's a little frustrating because I had all these questions for my mother, and she is not here. I have no one to ask them to. It's like I came here for nothing."

"That's not true, Gabriel. There has to be a reason why you came."

"Willam, it's starting!" my mother's double said.

The next thing I knew, we were standing by the window. There was a procession of people carrying signs a few flights below us. "What is it?" I asked.

"A protest, led by some people that my wife knows rather well," Monsieur Bell answered. "Here, take a look."

Suddenly, a pair of binoculars were in my hand. I looked down. "Why, there's Hiro! And Claire! And Daphne, and Matt, and Peter, and Monsieur Rains. Heh, 'When will you see me?' Clever sign! So, do they have abilities here, too?"

"Yes."

"And I guess they are persecuted here, but they are not in hiding."

"The leader of this organization decided strength was in numbers, and the only way for them to beat the government was to fight for their rights."

"Who is the leader?"

My mother's double pointed to the far end of the procession. I looked with the binoculars and adjusted the focus once I saw the man with the bullhorn leading everyone in chants. "What? _Non! _They're like chickens being led to the fox's den! He's going to kill them all!"

She looked at me in fury. "How dare you say that about my brother?"

I was dumbfounded. Her brother? Does that mean, on my side that he's . . .? Or maybe she was speaking metaphorically. At any rate, I jumped out of my seat. "I gotta stop him!"

* * *

The sky grew darker, and the wind became stronger. Michael could feel it shake the walls. "Maybe we should duck and cover," he said aloud.

"Give me just a minute. I'll take care of this." Samson approached the window, waved his hand, and whistled a rather eerie note. But the wind would not die down, and lightning struck close by on the land. "Oh, it's not calming down. That must mean it's her. She found me."

"Who?"

"You wouldn't want to know."

"So, someone's causing this?"

"I think so, someone out for revenge."

Michael then ran up to him and put his hands on Samson's shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

"Protecting you!"

A green glow surrounded both of them, shielding them both from the storm's wrath. Even as the windows shattered, they couldn't even feel the wind. They stayed like that for a while, until Michael heard a voice. "Mr. Bonhomme! Mr. Bonhomme!"

"Who's there?" he called back. When no one answered, he let go and wondered out. As soon as he left, the "tree" he was in uprooted and was blown away, and the storm stopped.

"Mr. Bonhomme!" He could hear the voice more clearly now. Michael followed it and found a young man holding tightly to a tree.

"Are you alright?"

The boy nodded and dusted himself off. "I've been sent to find you by your son. He wants you to come back to Harvard. He's worried about you."

He nodded. "I see." He looked up to where the tree flew off. "Well, now's as good a time as any. I think my pilgrimage is over."

* * *

I made it down right as the procession came at a standstill and the leader was making a speech. I fought my way through the crowd and listened to the words he was saying into his bullhorn. They sounded a little familiar. "My friends, my family, we face the biggest challenges we've seen in a generation from terrorism to the threat of eugenics once again. But no one understands or even cares about our plight. We need to shake up the power in Washington in order to bring the change that we need, and I have a plan that will do just that!" (Applause and cheers from the crowd) "Now, you may ask why haven't I talked to the President about this plan." (He scoffed) "Believe me, I tried." (A bit of light laughter from the crowd) "My office has made numerous phone calls to the White House, but it seems the President is just too busy to meet with me face to face, too occupied keeping the 'status quo.'" (More laughter and scoffs from the crowd) "It seems he likes to talk about change, but he isn't ready or willing to make it." (I heard a few "amens" to that remark) "But I promise you, whenever the President agrees to meet with me, when he agrees to shake my hand, real change will come to this country, and nothing will ever be the same!" As the crowd cheered loudly, it dawned on me where I heard these words. They were very similar to what the false Nathan Petrelli said on that TV. It was a bit bizarre hearing those words in a different and a much more informal tone.

As I came closer, someone stopped me. It was a man I didn't recognize wearing a black leather jacket, a shirt that read "Rock and Roll," and a camouflage baseball cap. "Welcome, friend," he said. "Would you like a button?"

"Uh . . ." Before I could tell him no, it was pinned to my shirt. There was nothing special about it, just a round piece of plastic that was white and read, "Mind Over Matter" and attached to a safety pin. "_Merci_," I muttered.

"No problem," he answered patting my shoulder. "Thanks for your support."

I was about to tell him I wasn't really here to support them, but then the speaker pointed at me. "You!" I froze because he pointed at my forehead. "Brother, come up here." I joined him on the stage as the group mildly applauded. "I haven't seen you before, but I know you're one of us. I can see it in you. I can feel it. What's your name?"

"Gabe," I answered.

"Oh, awesome! Just like my name! So Gabe, have you been oppressed?"

I didn't know if I really should answer, but eventually I did. _"Oui."_

"Have you felt your freedoms restricted?"

"_Oui._"

"Have you lived every day in fear?"

"_Oui."_

"Gabe, my friend, you don't have to be afraid anymore. In the words of Tom Petty, 'You don't have to live like a refugee.' There is a way out of oppression. There is a way toward freedom. We will reach it together."

"And just how will we do that?"

He seemed a bit taken aback by this question. So I continued, "Will you split a few heads open? Will you take their powers for yourself?" There were a few murmurs from the crowd. His face lost its optimism, and he looked at me with fear and confusion, but I just wasn't sure if it was genuine. I felt it was time to be blunt. "Tell the truth. You gathered all these people with superbilities and gave them false hope, just so they can trust you and let their guards down, and you KILL THEM! Isn't that true, SYLAR?"

There was a bit of a hushed silence, and then . . . laughter. Sylar just clicked on the bullhorn and said, "This is your first demonstration, isn't it?" Even stronger laughter.

I really didn't understand.

"Gabriel wouldn't hurt a fly!" a voice called out. I saw the same man who gave me the button speaking at the stage. "He's a pacifist! Everybody knows it!"

"Thank you, Sam," Sylar said. He turned to me. "Gabe, I can actually understand why you would accuse like that of me."

"You can?"

"Yes, because there are too many killers in this world, too many people who are heartless and cold. And then they take their hatred on us. But I refuse to step down to their level, especially to these, my brothers and sisters. That is why I am kind to everyone. "

"But you said you can see my power. Don't you want it? Don't you want to take it?"

"Why would I?" He gestured out to the crowd. "Look at these people. Look closely into their faces."

I looked and again saw many of my friends, but I didn't see anything particularly special. "What about them?"

"I think if you look hard enough, you'll find we're all the same. We may have different abilities, but we are all children born of light with rainbows in our hearts. All of us are miracles. And to those who do not see this yet, we will show them. I've learned that strength is in numbers, and we can stand together for our rights, show them that we are human, and we deserve to be treated as such!" There was more applause. Then Sylar lowered the bullhorn, turned to me, extended his hand and said to me, "Will you join us?"

And I looked very closely at his face, searching to see if he really meant it. This just felt so backwards from the Sylar I know. I'm not sure exactly what it was, but for a moment, I saw a flicker of a microexpression that Dr. Lightman said indicates a genuine emotion. So I took Sylar's hand.

And then everything went black.

It took me a moment to realize I was in the tank again. I had woken up, just like Monsieur Bell said. I opened the door and sat down. I happened to notice that I was still wearing that "Mind Over Matter" button. I'm not sure how that was possible.

"So, did you see your mother?" Dr. Bishop asked.

I shook my head. _"Non_, but I saw something better."

To Be Continued . . .


	8. Fearfully, Wonderfully Made

Chapter 8: Fearfully, Wonderfully Made

I told them everything. Well, first I questioned why Dr. Bishop sent me to a parallel universe because it didn't really help me meet my mama. He was actually surprised that this is what happened on my trip. He didn't think one could go there through a dream. But his position was this was not his intention. His concoction just opened the doorway of my consciousness, allowing the mind to go wherever it will. Then I learned that this was not their first dealings with the parallel universe. For example, when I mentioned that Monsieur Bell asked about Agent Dunham, she corrected me that his title was Dr. Bell. She explained that she did meet him on the other side once. I'm not sure how many details I can give here. This whole story is very classified, and they didn't tell me very much.

"I wish that was the reality where I lived," I said tiredly after a while.

"Why do you say that?" Agent Dunham asked.

"Because nobody's hiding. They're fighting, and maybe they're winning. And of course, I'd rather be in a world with that self-advocating Sylar than the murdering Sylar."

"Gabe, there are a lot of bad people there. They've actually come over to this world and have worked to destroy it. One of them killed my former partner."

"Sylar did mention something about many heartless murderers. It really is a shame there's no one like him over here, fighting for us."

"You may not realize it," Dr. Bishop said, "but there is a chance that the Silo over here–"

"You mean Sylar?"

"Yes, him, can become like the man you met over there."

"What do you mean?"

"The things that happen in these other universes aren't because they are comprised of completely different people. It's because they make different choices."

"That's right," Agent Dunham, added. "Gabe, when you first spoke with Dr. Bell, do you know where you were?"

I shrugged. "I know it was a multi-story building because I had to look down to see the procession."

"When I spoke to him, we were in an office in the World Trade Center. He said it was still standing because different choices were made."

"What's your point?"

"That the potential to become a civil rights leader for your group does lie within the murderer," Dr. Bishop said. "He just needs to learn to make new choices."

"I doubt that will happen."

Just as I was saying that, the door opened. I stood up and watched as my father came in. "Gabriel, I'm here," he said weakly.

"Papa!" I ran up and hugged him. "You're here! You're safe!"

"Yes, it is good to see you again."

"Oh my goodness, what is this?" That was Dr. Bishop speaking. He was watching us as a brilliant glow surrounded Papa and me.

"Oh!" I said pulling away. "Papa, this is Dr. Walter Bishop."

"I feel like I know you from somewhere," Papa said softly to him.

"What was that light?" Dr. Bishop asked again. "I have only seen something like this once before, and it was a long time ago."

"Of course," I whispered. Then I looked boldly at my team. "We all need to go to Washington, D.C. now! And I mean everyone, including Thomas, Hanami, Harmony, and Wiki."

"You're going to come out of hiding?" Peter Bishop said. "After you spent so many weeks without leaving the lab?"

"I know just how to fight Sylar in our own way. We're going down there to put on a demonstration they'll never forget."

"Just what are you planning?" Astrid asked.

"Wait until you see. Doctor, it's going to blow your mind!"

So everybody worked to get everyone else up and out the door. I went to the corner of the lab to get Thomas when I saw Monsieur Rains leaning back in the hay. "If you're doing what I think you're doing, you do realize that you're missing a couple of things," he said. "For one, your walking stick."

"I don't think it's necessary."

"Hmmm, we'll see about that. For the other, Pete's not here, is he?"

"Peter can't do it anymore. He lost his powers. It's a long story."

"Then who's gonna fill in that gap, that missing link?"

"Agent Dunham, of course."

"The blonde woman with that pathetic smile? Fancy her, do you?"

"No. If I understand right, her limitation is just as low as ours. Though she's NT, she's somewhat on our level. We can try it anyway. You know, this whole light thing may have nothing to do with our powers or our autism. Maybe it's the Catalyst, or just our absence of limitation. I don't know. Maybe I should study William Bell's work for some of that."

"You really like to study," he said.

"You haven't figured that out already?"

He smiled, maybe even laughed a little at that. "Well, OK." Then, he got to his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you!"

"You don't have to."

"I want to. I could do with a little excitement. I'm not going to be left alone with the cow!"

"You remember what happened last time."

"Right. I won't be in the center again." I tried to dissuade him, but he kept following me, like a shadow. Since we were the last ones out, he said quietly to me, "You know, about what you were saying, that whole demonstration, I wanted to be someone like that. I wanted to bring my people together and have us fight for our humanity."

"Well, over there, you were. You were even holding a sign that said, 'When will you see me?'" I laughed, and he chuckled a bit, but then he turned serious.

"You know, it nearly got me killed."

I gave him an astonished look.

"Yeah," he went on. "Noah considered it treachery against the Company, and he shot me multiple times."

"How did you survive?"

"He was a lousy shot. Maybe he was that way on purpose, that he wanted me to survive. At any rate, the moment I became invisible, I knew I was going to live because I still had control. So, you need to know, Gabriel, that this is a ghastly business, what you're getting into. You may not be so lucky."

"Even so, it's the right thing to do."

"Is it?" He gave me a probing stare, and when I couldn't answer, he walked ahead.

* * *

"So, whereabouts in Washington are we headed?" Peter asked as we came into town.

"Do you know where Building 26 is?" I asked.

He looked out the window. "Uh . . . no, it doesn't look like the buildings all have numbers on them."

"Agent Dunham?"

"I could send in a request to Broyles," she answered. "I never heard of it."

"I don't know much about it, just that it was called 'the belly of the beast.' My guess is it's Nazi headquarters."

"Gabe, what exactly are we doing?"

"It's a little hard to explain."

"Well, try."

"Alright." I took a deep breath. "There's some kind of power that shows up like a light whenever we people on the spectrum with superbilities meet. A few years ago, we stood in a circle, holding hands, and that power grew stronger in all of us. We used it to wish away a particular threat. And then Sylar tried to attack, and I had superhuman strength to beat him to a pulp, and when he tried to kill me, his powers didn't work. I still don't understand what it all means, but maybe if we did it again, we would have the power to stop Sylar before everything gets out of hand."

"That sounds nuts," Astrid mumbled.

Peter chuckled. "So does everything else we do, Astrid."

"Yes. You are right, Gabriel, I cannot wait to see this," Dr. Bishop said.

"Hey, wait!" I said. "Stop the car! I see a couple of my friends." Peter pulled over the car, and I ran quickly to two Japanese men sitting on the curb. "Hiro! _Bonjour!_"

Hiro's face immediately lit up. "Gabriel!" He gave me a big hug.

"It's good to see you alive. I thought for a long time that you were killed in that plane accident."

"No, I'm alive. Ando and I are about to take Building 26. How's Hanami?"

"She's doing great."

"Good. I knew she would be in good hands with you."

"Wait, you sent her, not Rebel?"

"Matt Parkman sent her. He drew the picture of you meeting her at Harvard."

"I didn't know he had that power." I quickly introduced Hiro and Ando to my new friends. Hiro shook all their hands, and Ando just grinned and waved at them. Then I looked closer at Hiro. "Hiro, are you feeling alright? You look pale."

"No, he is not well," Ando said. "His nose was bleeding a little while ago."

"It's just a headache now," Hiro said. "I'm fine."

"Oh, alright. Well, we're going to recreate the Circle, if you want to come."

"Sorry," Hiro answered in a detached tone. "I made a vow to take down Building 26 once and for all, and a samurai never goes back on a vow."

"I understand. So, you got this place covered?"

Ando nodded. "I think so."

"Then where would be a good place to set up? Do you know where the President is?"

Hiro shook his head.

"Probably the White House," Ando suggested.

"No!" Astrid spoke up. "I just saw a paper headline. The President is giving a speech at the Stanton Hotel."

"Then that's where we'll go," I said. "Hiro, it was nice to see you."

"Why are we going where the President is?" Agent Dunham asked as we walked away.

"Because wherever he is, Sylar will be close."

* * *

The Secret Service wouldn't let us inside the hotel, even when Agent Dunham flashed her FBI badge. So, we set up outside the building. I showed everyone where to stand. I had Harmony stand next to Thomas, and Hanami stood between him and Papa, then me, then Wiki, then Agent Dunham. I knew it was a little heavy on our side, but who said it couldn't be? On cue, I told everyone to hold hands. I wish I could describe the sensation I felt. It was just like last time. It felt overwhelming, in some ways horrible but in other ways wonderful. I could just feel the power washing over me, flowing through my veins, burning in my heart. The hum in my ears was painful, but I didn't even seem to notice. I kept my eyes closed through most of it because I remembered how bright it was last time. I opened them one time when I heard guns calking, but anyone with a gun vanished when they came close to us.

When I felt it die down, I let go. My head was swimming and I felt like falling over, but I knew I had to stay focused. I took a deep breath through my nostrils; it felt like the first, clean breath of fresh air that I breathed in months. Someone patted me hard on the shoulder. "That must have been quite a trip, Jerry." It was Dr. Bishop. I wouldn't dignify that with a response.

I looked next to me at Agent Dunham. "Are you alright?" I asked.

She had her hand on her head. "Yeah, I . . . wow. I don't think I'll ever take you for granted again, Gabe."

I smile. _"Merci."_

"So, now what?"

"Now, we look for Sylar."

"Well, the fireworks continue," Peter said pointing up. We saw in one window of the hotel a brilliant light flash several times. Then we saw people flying out of it. "Check it out. It's a bird. It's a plane."

"It's probably Nathan," I said. Then I remembered Nathan wasn't Nathan anymore. "Wait. Sylar!"

"What do we do?" Wiki asked.

"Everyone, point at him and wish him to be gone forever!"

"Do we have to do this?" Papa asked.

"Yes, Papa. He's going to kill the president if we don't and ruin our lives!"

But as we were pointing, Sylar flew out of our sight. "Agent Dunham," I asked, "is there anyway we could get the Secret Service to let us through?"

"I'll call Broyles. Maybe he can let us through," she answered.

"Hang on," Peter said. "He's flying back out again . . . and he's coming this way."

"Get ready, everyone," I instructed.

I watched as the figure touched down on the ground. It appeared to be Nathan, all smiles. He said, "Hey Gabriel, what a nice surprise. What brings you here?" But as he walked closer, his face changed.

"Nice try, Sylar," I said.

He crossed his arms. "Oh, namesake. Just when I thought I had you figured out, here you are. See, I thought you hated America. And yet, you're at the nation's capitol."

Agent Dunham pulled out her badge and reached for her handcuffs. "FBI. Sylar, you're under arrest for–"

But Sylar quickly stopped her with a move of his finger, which caused the cuffs to fly out of her hand. "An FBI agent? You look a lot like the last one who went after me."

"Leave her alone!" I ordered. "I know what you're up to, and . . . " I thought about challenging him, but then I remembered what I saw in my dream and what Dr. Bishop told me, and I said, "you don't have to do it."

"I don't?"

"That's right. I saw a side of you I've never seen before. It was in a vision of another world, and you were an advocate for all of us. You were like Martin Luther King, or Ari Ne'eman! That potential is still in you. You just need to make different choices. You don't have to be a murderer!"

"You've been talking to him, have you?" he said, pointing to Papa. "Namesake, I thought you knew me better than that. You know I'm a murderer, and I can't change."

"In that case, we're going to stop you!"

"I know," he answered nonchalantly. "And there's nothing I can do to stop you. You all have that resistance up, like a wall against me. Of course, I could tear that wall down, can't I namesake? Oh wait, I have a better name for you." He walked behind me and whispered in my ear, "Nephew."

"LIAR!" I yelled in his face.

"No, it is true!" He started pacing around my papa. "You wanted me to be part of your family. Well, I am. I'm your brother-in-law, Piano Man. Your wife was my sister."

"_C'est impossible!" _I replied.

"OK, technically, half-sister. I just found out the other day. We have the same father."

"If it is true, I'm not surprised by that. Criminals breed criminals, and your father was a criminal."

"I know. I know about that, and maybe what you say is true. I don't admire the man for it, and as he is dying, it's all water under the bridge anyway. Still, the fact remains–I'm family, and you're stuck with me."

"I've heard you say that before."

"Don't believe me, huh? Well, it's obvious your resistance isn't going down. That's ok. Not all of you have this incredible resistance." He smiled as he looked past my shoulder and lifted his finger. "Say, 'Uncle,'"he whispered.

Somehow, I knew what he meant. "_Non!_" I screamed. Almost in slow motion, I ran toward the target and pushed him out of the way. Then he screamed and fell to the ground. Blood was everywhere. It got all over me. As I looked down at his body, I saw a horrible gash right across his chest.

"Sir, are you alright?" Astrid asked as she ran to his side.

He looked at her. "You see me?" he said in a weak voice.

"Yeah, you're bleeding all over."

He closed his eyes for a second. "Oh, then it's happening. It's really happening this time."

"What?" she asked.

"I'm dying."

"No," Astrid said. "I'll call for an ambulance right aw–"

"NO! Just let it be, please. Let it be." Monsieur Rains looked at me. "Oi," he said slowly motioning with his fingers. I knelt down to him. He smiled. "Thanks."

It made me feel a little better. I was about to accept his gratitude and replied, "_De ri–"_

"Because now it smarts ten times worse!"

"But . . . this isn't supposed to happen. You're not supposed to die."

"Who says?"

"I saw you in the future. You were old, and you were still taking care of your pigeons."

"The future hasn't happened yet, so it's up for grabs. Please, allow me this. I've waited ten years for a decent rest."

"No more nightmares, huh?"

"Don't look so down, mate. I'll be seeing ya. I just . . . I can't . . . promise . . ." He was shuddering and grimacing in pain, and then he closed his eyes.

I said very softly, "That's OK. I won't be looking for you."

* * *

I felt overwhelmingly sad, just not sad enough to cry. I just sat motionless on the ground for about an hour. I felt numb. I couldn't even feel the blood caked on my hands, face, and clothes. Maybe deep down I knew I felt nasty, but it didn't matter. I couldn't tell you what bothered me the most, that my friend was gone, that I was related to Sylar, that I let him get away to do whatever he planned, or if that the whole Circle thing was for nothing. Because Sylar was right, it did tear our resistance down. We were all shocked and saddened, and we lost our fighting spirit. Poor Hanami rested her head on my shoulder and wouldn't stop crying.

Then, Great Aunt Angela and the spy found me. "Gabriel," she said. "I was told you were here. I need all of you to come with us to Coyote Sands."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because Sylar . . . is dead."

"For real, this time," the spy added. "I was a witness to it."

"We are going to cremate him and put this dark era of his terror behind us."

I looked up at her defiantly. "Why would I want to see the death of my enemy? My friend is dead."

"Yes, I've heard about Claude. I'm so sorry."

"You didn't have a dream about him?"

"I can't have dreams about everyone, you know. We'll creamate him as well." When I didn't move, she got down on my level. "You want to be part of this family, don't you?"

I looked at her. "Was he my uncle?"

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Was Sylar my mother's brother? That was one of the last things he told me, and I want to know if it was true."

She shook her head. "I don't know, dear."

"Yes, you do! You almost told me the name of my grandfather, but I stopped you. It was Sylar's father, wasn't it?

She sighed and lowered her head. "_Je suis desole_, Gabriel."

Alright, another thing to pile onto this heap of hurt. "I do want to be part of this family, but . . ."

"What is it?"

I couldn't say it right away, not then, but I think that's when I made up my mind. "Maybe I should come with you. I need to talk to you about something. You won't like it, but you need to know."

I never was really clear about what happened that killed Sylar. What we saw in that window was a fight that Sylar had with Peter and Nathan Petrelli, and they were both very vague about how that went. Peter told me that he got Sylar's shapeshifting power (he explained that he got his power back, but he can only absorb one ability at a time), and he used it to change into the President. He led Sylar into a trap. Sylar tried to shake the President's hand, but then his power failed on him, and Peter shot a tranquilizer into his neck. He handed Sylar in to his mother, but he didn't know how Sylar died. Great Aunt Angela and the spy wouldn't give me any specific details either.

Something really bothered me about this. I think it was because everyone was so vague, or it maybe because I heard the news from Great Aunt Angela. And once more, she told me a huge lie, right to my face. But maybe that was my fault. I didn't want her to tell me the truth. But ultimately, I was beginning to see that Monsieur Rains was right, not just about the spy, but about both of them. I couldn't trust them about anything, so I shouldn't even try. So I strongly wonder if Sylar is still alive, though it's really tough to doubt my senses. Because I stood there in the middle of this campsite that strongly resembles a concentration camp on a cold night and watched as his body disintegrated next to Claude's on a funeral pyre. How else could it have been him?

Everyone was there, not just us in the Circle, but all the Petrellis, the spy, Claire, Hiro, Ando, Matt, and Mohinder. Agent Dunham waited for us in the car. We were all just very solemn and silent. Hanami was all cried out. In fact, there was only one mourner at this funeral–Papa. And I don't think he was mourning for Monsieur Rains.

Claire stood by me and nudged my arm as I stood by the fire. "What are you laughing about, at a funeral?" she asked playfully.

"Oh, I was just thinking about his last words. He was trying to repeat something he said when I first met him. He told us that he'd be seeing us, but he couldn't promise the same thing the other way around. You know, that we'd see him. It was funny because, he was invisible."

"Oh yeah, I remember."

"He lived up to his promise, though. He showed up sometimes to talk, to check in. Even though I could see him, he always managed to sneak up on me, and he always had a way of vanishing in the crowd. I never really liked that about him. But he was a good friend. He may have said he was a misanthrope, but there were times I found that very hard to believe. Every time I saw him, he looked healthier and happier. And he always was very witty and clever and had some good advice."

"I have vague memories of Uncle Claude when I was seven. He gave me teddy bears for my collection. He promised to get me an authentic Winnie-the-Pooh. Then Dad said he quit his job and went back to London."

"Another lie," I said quietly. "Your father fired him, literally."

"Yeah, I figured it was something like that."

"How do you trust him, Claire?"

"Well, the more I know him, the more I don't. But I still love him."

"Why?"

"'Cause he's my dad, and I know he has the same deal with me. I'm not the most honest person on Earth either." She gave me another fake cheerleader smile, patted my arm, and walked away.

On the other side of the fire, I saw Hiro holding his head, funny. I came closer and heard Ando say, "Are you alright?"

"Not really," Hiro replied. "It's time to go home."

Hanami made a whiny groan, and Hiro quietly chided her. As I came closer, Hanami hugged me around the waist. "Bye, Gabriel," she said.

"_Adieu, _Hanami," I replied. And I shook Hiro's hand before he left. "Be well soon, my friend," I said. He just smiled and nodded. If only I knew then. My friend would not get better, and that was the last time I ever saw Hanami.

Mohinder patted my shoulder as he walked away. I watched Matt give Papa a hug, and he waved at me as he walked on. Then I looked back into the fire. I blinked, and I believe I felt one tear roll down my cheek. "I can't believe I'll never see him again."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," a voice next to me said. The voice sounded so familiar! I turned, and there he was, Claude Rains, just standing there with a grin on his face. I turned back to the funeral pyre, but the body was still there. I turned back and–

"So Gabriel, what was it you wanted to tell me?" It was Great Aunt Angela. I looked all around, but I didn't see Monsieur Rains anywhere. "What's wrong? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

I shook my head. It must have been my imagination. "It's nothing," I said. "I wanted to tell you that I've made up my mind. I'm not going to hide anymore. I'm not going to run anymore. I'll continue my education and working with this satellite team at Harvard, doing research with them, but when it's over and I'm ready, I'm going to become an advocate."

"You mean a lawyer?" Nathan asked.

"Perhaps, in some respects. I'm going to fight for our rights, our recognition. I'll get others with superbilities with me, and we'll protests and sign petitions and do whatever it takes to keep this from ever happening again."

"It's going to be OK, Gabe," Nathan explained. "I spoke to the President. We're going to turn this all around. He's providing the resources so that we can all go underground again."

"No, Nathan. That will just make us refugees and fugitives again! We got to be proud of who we are!"

"Gabriel, don't do this," Great Aunt Angela said. "I know it seems right now, but it will only lead to trouble. You can't make people accept this."

"And they never will if we don't try. I know it's dangerous, but I'm willing to take the risk, just like any civil rights leader has done."

She just shook her head sadly and walked away. I was rather certain that would be the reaction I'd get from her. "Well," Nathan said, "if you need me to show you the ropes with legal matters, I'd be happy to help."

"_Merci_, Nathan."

"No problem. Um . . ."

"What is it?"

"I feel like there was something I was supposed to tell you."

"Well, you promised to tell me about my mother."

"I know, I just . . . can't remember. I'll get back to you on that, OK?"

"_D'accord_." I wasn't expecting him to say anything anyway.

It was strange that in the end, it was Sylar who showed me my purpose. I always knew I wanted to change the world, but I didn't know how. I know now. Because if I don't have to live like a refugee, I don't want to ever again, and no one else should either. Fresh air is the only air we should breathe. So, I need to reclaim my identity, my abilities, my disability, my name. It will take time, a little soul-searching, but it will happen. And nothing will be the same.

End of Volume III

* * *

Volume IV: Liberation

Just about everybody was gone, except for the one mourner. Poor guy. I guess even a murderer needs some love.

I sat down to wait for Pete, but I felt kinda uneven. Wait. What's this in my back pocket? I reached behind me and pulled out a Bible. Where'd this come from? I flipped through. The words were written in another language; it looked like French. I couldn't really tell, though. I had no idea where it came from or what I was doing from it, but something inside me told me who it belonged to.

"Hey, Michael!" I walked over to the mourner and handed it to him. "I think this is yours."

He dried some of his tears. "You found it."

"Yeah, I . . . did." What else could I say?

"Thank you, Nathan." He opened the Bible, looked into the flames, and read aloud, "Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I go up to Heaven, You are there. If I make my bed in the grave, behold, You are there. If I fly on the wings of the morning, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Your hand will lead me and Your right hand will grab me. If I say, 'Surely the darkness will overwhelm me and the light around me will be night,' even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You. For You did form my insides. You did weave me in my mother's womb. I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." He started to cry again and looked up. _"Je suis desole, mon Pere! J'ai essaye! Pardonnez-moi!"_

I wiped a couple of tears from my own eyes. "That's from Psalms 139, right? That's one of my favorite Biblical passages. Well, your reading was very moving."

But I turned, and he was gone.

* * *

Six Weeks Later

Gabe was in the lab looking through a microscope. "Are you doing OK, Gabe?" Astrid asked. "You looked kinda sad."

He sighed. "Well, I don't feel bad, but I don't really feel good either."

"So . . . so-so?"

"Is that how you say it in English?"

"Yeah."

"Is it because of your friend?" Agent Bonhomme asked. "You've been taking that pretty well."

Gabe opened his mouth to answer, but then he felt a sharp pain come out of nowhere. "AAAAH!" he screamed as he grabbed his chest with his right hand. He fell to his knees and started gasping.

"Gabe, what is it?" Astrid asked as she ran to his side.

"_Mon coeur!_"

"Your heart?"

"_Il blesse! Il blesse!" _(It hurts!) Gabriel started to cry.

"Call the ambulance! I think Gabe's having a heart attack!"

To be continued . . .


End file.
